


Call's DCTV Prompt Fills

by SheWhoWalksUnseen



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Supergirl (TV 2015), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-02 10:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 53,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16785373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWalksUnseen/pseuds/SheWhoWalksUnseen
Summary: A place for all of my Tumblr prompts I deem too short to be made into their own fics, some longer than others.I add ships and tags and characters as I go, so I'm sorry if this clogs the tags. Most of these are bound to be Coldflash, but since I'm a multishipper, there'll definitely be more than just them in here, given the other ship tags.





	1. Coldflash, Married in Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "We accidentally got married in Vegas, oops" for Coldflash

The groan was what caused Len to stir initially. His head was throbbing and he was strangely cold, the silk sheets doing little to warm him even in July, so he shifted closer to the warmth next to him, breathing in deep. He couldn’t remember what he had been dreaming of, sleep clinging to his mind as something hard prodded his side. It had felt like a good dream, though, something he wanted to get back to, so he buried his face in the heat pressed against him, arms tightening around it as he ignored the jabs.

Aside from the headache, he didn’t mind the lazy feeling that seeped into his bones. It had been too long since he’d had time to lay in bed like this, embrace the soft heat that came from the flesh under his fingers -

“Five more minutes, Joe, please…”

Those words jarred him from the haze of sleep. Len opened his eyes and shot back, hands detaching from where they’d been wrapped around - _clinging to_ -

“What the _hell_?”

Barry’s own eyes opened, confusion evident before he registered who he was staring at and yelped, scrambling backward, nearly toppling off the bed. His cheeks flared with color and if the circumstances were different, Len might’ve delighted in the sight of that pretty scarlet shade spreading down his chest. However, the fact that Barry was just as alarmed as he was brought little comfort.

“ _Snart_ \- I - what?! Why are you - ?”

“I ought to ask you the same question, Barry,” he snapped. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re in _my_ hotel room.”

He watched Barry look around the room, at the wide windows covering the wall beside the bed leading to a balcony overlooking the city, the scattered clothes on the floor (Len noted that no pants or undergarments were among them with relief and slight disappointment, which then made his nose wrinkle as he realized they both were wearing jeans) that led a suspicious path to the bathroom, the framed paintings that hung on the walls. A bottle of red wine sat on the bedside table on Barry’s side, open and half-drunk with the cork sitting on its side beside it. Len narrowed his eyes as he eyed it. He refused to believe that one bottle of wine had caused such a pounding migraine, nor a visit in his bed by _goddamn Barry Allen_ of all people.

No, _something_ must have happened.

Barry grimaced and sat up, running a hand through his hair as he turned back to Len. “This is your room?”

“My hotel room, yes.” He bit back a snarky comment about it being acquired through less-than-legal means. Somehow he doubted Barry would appreciate a reminder of his criminal hobbies at the moment.

“How…?”

“Don’t know.”

Barry glared at him. “What do you mean you _don’t know_?”

“Precisely that. Unless you’d be happy to shed some light on our…situation?” He ran his eyes down Barry’s exposed chest, lips twitching at the way the other squirmed under his watch. And he squirmed so _nicely_.

Barry’s squirming didn’t last more than a couple seconds, sadly; Len’s jab must have struck a nerve because his gaze grew distant. “I don’t remember anything,” Barry muttered. He frowned, his hand freezing where it remained in his tousled hair. “I can’t get drunk, how can I not remember _anything_ from last night? Do you…?”

His words trailed off. The uncertainty that lingered caused Len’s gut to clench.

“No,” he admitted. “Aside from the headache and the hangover, it seems we’re in the same boat, Scarlet.”

“Shit.”

 _Shit indeed_ , Len thought.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Barry insisted. “I remember running into you at the bar, talking to you - ” ( _more like arguing_ , Len wanted to say, recalling the way Barry’s face had scrunched up in mixed confusion and anger at the sight of him, his cheeks the same shade of red they were now as he leaned in, demanding to know what he was planning on stealing that night, which had made Len chuckle) “ - but after the first couple drinks, I… I don’t remember what happened.”

Len wracked his brain. He certainly remembered the meeting, the drinks that they’d shared once Len had simultaneously convinced Barry that no, he wasn’t planning on stealing anything from the gambling tourists - the wallets he’d already stolen went unmentioned - and that perhaps he ought to _chill out_ if he was this riled up over petty theft on _vacation_.

(He hadn’t mentioned that he had spotted Barry and the rest of his do-gooder team an hour ago, laughing and watching one another strike out at the poker tables, Barry’s smile blinding him even when he was halfway across the room and oblivious to the attention he was attracting, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners seized something jagged and cold in his chest, causing his own lips to curl against his will).

He remembered the two of them relaxing, just a little, as they drank, remembered his tongue loosening and Barry snickering at the way he slurred his words. He remembered the man offering to walk him back - _have to make sure you’re not going to steal anything_ , he’d teased with his hand burning warm and heavy on Len’s shoulder, a feeling that the latter would never admit to pressing into - and leaving the bar. He drew a mental blank after that.

“We left together,” Len relayed to Barry, who had begun to shift where he sat, the sheets tangled with his legs. “I remember that much. You certainly didn’t seem drunk.”

“Did we get knocked out then? Or did _I_?” Barry stood and paced the room. He radiated pent-up energy, nervous tension building in his shoulders.

“Given that we had time to open a bottle of wine, I highly doubt that. Not unless our captors were generous enough to leave some out for the two of us.”

Barry shot him a look. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Len sighed. “Are you sure you can’t get drunk, kid?”

“I was sober,” Barry insisted. Len held out his hands defensively.

“Just running through our options. Still begs the question as to why the designated driver can’t remember a thing.”

Barry’s face lit up. “Iris, Cisco, and Caitlin!”

“What about them?”

“They were there too. If they saw us leave then…” Barry massaged the back of his neck with both hands, as if feeling for a knot that hadn’t been there the night before, looking at the disarray of clothes on the floor in search of his phone. The hope in his eyes twisted deep in Len’s chest, curling contentedly around his heart. He shoved the feeling down, replacing it with an iron fist.

“And what are you going to tell them, Barry? That you woke up half-naked in bed with _Captain Cold_ in an unfamiliar hotel room?”

Barry wasn’t impressed by his sneer. “Well, what am I _supposed_ to say? It’s the truth! If someone knocked us out - ”

“Which is _unlikely_ , given the wine and the shirtlessness.”

“They still need to know what happened!” Len rolled his eyes and rose from the bed.

“I’m not telling you I wanna be your dirty, little secret, Barry.” He paused to watch the man sputter at the innuendo before continuing. “If there’s a reason beyond the two of us getting drunk - or however drunk you _can_ get with your powers - at a bar in Vegas, then there could be a more pressing matter at hand.”

That got Barry to stop combing the floor with his eyes for his phone. “What, you think a metahuman did this? That we were whammied?”

Len grimaced. He suspected Cisco was behind the origin of that term. “Well, I don’t see what else could’ve done this.”

“Are you _sure_ you don’t remember anything else?”

“No.”

Barry averted his gaze with a scowl - though it was really more of a pout with those expressive green eyes boring a hole into the wall adjacent. The expression reminded him, oddly, of the way Lisa would beg him as a kid to spend five more minutes - _just five, Lenny, I promise_ \- on the swingset in the park down the street.

“If you’re right, then that’s all the more reason to tell them where we are.”

“I’m just saying,” Len said, his drawl coming out thick as Barry turned back to face him, his hands tightening their grip on the back of his neck. “ _This_ doesn’t paint a pretty picture.” He waved a hand between them to emphasize his point.

A gleam caught his eye as he did so, something metal on his hand, and Len paused, all other thoughts vanishing at the drop of a hat. He stared.

Barry must have done the same because a small noise escaped the other man as Len stared and _stared_ because he had to still be asleep.

The silver ring clung to his ring finger innocently as Len’s stomach dropped to the floor with the clothes they had shed last night.

“I don’t remember getting married.” His words came out slow, careful. He faintly registered the iron fist of panic beginning to _squeeze_.

Barry didn’t respond.

Len glanced at the man and realized Barry was similarly preoccupied, having slid his own hands down from his neck to stare at his own fingers, his eyes wide as saucers. Len didn’t bother to hide the way his jaw dropped when he saw what _Barry_ was staring at.

“Neither do I.” Barry’s voice came out as a squeak as he met Len’s gaze.

The ring on Barry’s hand was identical to Len’s.

Somewhere in the back of his mind through the mantra of _what the fuck_ that was beginning to crescendo, he noted that it really _was_ possible for the Scarlet Speedster to turn _several_ shades darker than his moniker suggested (and he _fully_ intended on using this knowledge to his advantage when the panic receded).


	2. Coldflash, Wedding Bartender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I’m stuck at this stupid wedding, so please bar tender keep the drinks coming" for Coldflash

This was the last time he was getting dragged along on Iris’ interviews.

Well, she called them interviews, but judging by the wary look on the groom’s face as his best friend cornered the man about his company’s alleged dealings with the recent resurgence of the mob in Central City, this one was more of an interrogation. He couldn’t help but snort at Iris’ persistence with a shake of his head.

Barry wondered if she would blame him for sneaking out, heading back to the car or maybe convincing her to stop interrogating the poor man. After all, they had only come to Kayla’s wedding to congratulate the bride (“How do you know each other again?” “We spoke a couple times in my journalism class about the politics of animal cruelty and she’s visited me at work, keep up, Barry.”) and Iris’ determination to leave with a story was the sole reason they had stayed longer than the first hour of the reception. Now three hours had gone by and Barry was unbelievably bored, nursing his second drink at the bar.

Not that he blamed Iris for this - no, he could never blame her for pursuing something she was passionate about, which would be a tad hypocritical given his own late night trips to investigate cult rituals and towns where cannibalism was the norm (he wished he was joking about the latter). Something about weddings made his skin itch, though. It grew worse every time he thought of his old crushes, exes who looked at him with pity before he plastered a smile (too big, too wide) onto his face. He thought of the picture of his parents’ wedding that his father had used to pull out on their anniversary, their glowing faces as they laughed and pointed out who had tripped over their gowns, who had gotten drunk and planted a friendly kiss on his father’s cheek, who had given them the sweetest gift.

That sour, bitter feeling surged and Barry grimaced.

“Gotta say,” came a drawl to his right, low and amused, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so miserable at a wedding.”

Barry’s head snapped over and he swallowed hard, losing his train of thought. The man - presumably the bartender, given the way his nimble fingers were tapping behind the counter, the bottle of whiskey Barry had been drinking resting beside the digits - was tall, not nearly as broad as Barry, with high cheekbones, close-cropped hair and piercing blue eyes that held him frozen on the stool. The dark blue dress shirt and slacks fit him all-too-well, snug against his figure.

His lips twitched into a smirk the longer the silence dragged out, a mischievous quirk that made Barry’s throat feel dry. He cleared it anyway, hoping the man couldn’t see the flush he was _sure_ had climbed onto his face.

“Ah, no. I’m not, uh, I’m not miserable.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “That probably sounded more convincing in your head, kid.”

“I’m twenty-six,” Barry muttered.

“Not helping your case here.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be lecturing the guests on how they choose to spend their time at a wedding.”

The smirk grew. Barry tried not to stare at the dimple it created. He went to take a sip from his drink and realized with a start that it was empty. Oh.

The bartender shook his head at the sheepish look Barry sent him and took the glass from Barry’s hands. The brief brush of those long fingers against his own made his heart stutter.

“Wasn’t trying to lecture you,” the bartender said, filling the glass. “Unless that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Definitely not.” Barry accepted the drink from him, beating back the inappropriate urge to tangle his fingers with the other man’s before he took another sip. He averted his eyes and found Iris again, still bearing down on the groom with a tight, pleasant smile. Kayla had joined them now, her blue eyes wide, and Barry wondered if he was going to have to drag Iris away before the woman called for security. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d gotten kicked out of an event (they’d resolved never to speak of the police gala incident of 2011 as long as they were alive and that was fine by Barry. He still shuddered at the memory of all the wasted desserts as they were dragged out, lost to the fire that had been - allegedly - started somehow before Joe had found them outside), nor would it be the last.

“Ah. Your girlfriend seems to be enjoying herself.” The bartender must have followed where Barry’s attentions had been drawn. He didn’t sound too concerned about his employers being grilled at their own wedding.

“Best friend,” Barry corrected him. “And she probably is. She’s why I’m here. Believe it or not, she’s a…friend of the bride.”

The man laughed and Barry snuck a glance over his shoulder. The smirk had started to blend into a smile, small but genuine. His heart gave another flutter before he could scold himself for staring.

“Does she normally talk to her friends like this?”

“Only when she needs to get a story. She’s a reporter.”

The man hummed. “And you’re the plus one?”

“Pretty much.” Barry shrugged. “I don’t mind, though. Not the first time we’ve been invited somewhere and someone called security.” Kayla was beginning to argue with Iris now as well; being escorted out of the building was growing more and more likely.

“Well, here’s to hoping that won’t happen.”

Barry chuckled, taking a large drink of his whiskey. He registered the buzz settling in. Maybe that was where the flush was coming from. Huh.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Besides, you’ve got plenty of guests to keep you company.”

Yeah, he was definitely buzzed.

The bartender’s eyes studied him for a moment. He wasn’t certain, but he could’ve sworn the smile was growing fond as Barry stared back. “Hmm. I suppose so. But I think one’s enough for now.”

Barry ducked his head to hide his blush this time. He had _no right_ to say something like that in such a low, intimate tone.

It was getting late. He ought to get up and put a stop to Iris’ interrogation and rescue the bride and groom before he lost the chance.

Still, he didn’t find himself as eager to leave as he had been minutes ago.

A warm hand pried the glass from his fingers and he looked up in surprise. The other hand lingered, his thumb rubbing over the back of Barry’s still hand as he set the glass aside with the bottle of whiskey. Barry swallowed around the returning dryness in his throat. The callouses on the other’s palm brushed his own smooth skin with a strange gentleness that didn’t quite connect with the heat behind his gaze.

The hand retreated as swiftly as it had come and Barry fought the urge to groan, the imprint of the man’s heated skin on his lingering. “As _fascinating_ as it would be to watch you drink yourself into a stupor before your friend gets you thrown out, I think you’re hitting your limit, kid.”

“Not a kid,” Barry shot back. Yes, that was definitely a smile from the bartender. “I’m Barry.”

“Well, _Barry_ ,” _fuck_ , that didn’t help his blush at all, _why_ had he said anything, “I hope your lovely reporter friend is driving this evening. Might have to call you a cab otherwise.”

“I’m not a lightweight. I can take care of myself.”

“Never said you were or that you couldn’t.” He got the sense that the man was teasing him.

“Barry!” He heard Iris’ voice heading closer to the bar. By the sound of her heels, and how quickly she was moving, the time to bolt had come. There was a twinge in his chest, brief but harsh.

The bartender sighed. The smile was beginning to fade back into that smirk, though he swore something was off about it. “Better run. Looks like the bride’s calling for backup.”

Barry bit his lower lip, glancing at Iris, who was pushing her way through the crowd with strained apologies. Kayla was no longer beside her new husband, which meant he did indeed have to go. “Uh, yeah. Guess so.”

He probably should get off the stool.

As if sensing his hesitation, the bartender tilted his head at Barry, as if to say _Well?_ He didn’t appear impatient though, wasn’t urging him to get out of his sight; he was simply…curious.

Maybe it was the nice buzz or the way the other had smiled moments ago or the fact that _damn it_ , he didn’t want to go to another wedding as a wallflower, no matter how much he loved his best friend…

Fuck it.

He grabbed a pen from his jacket (secretly thanking Iris for her insistence that he carry one around “in case you catch something I miss tonight, because you never know”) and slid one of the napkins over. He had to scribble a couple times before the ink came out properly, his hands slightly shaky, but before long he pushed the napkin back towards the man, locking eyes with that piercing stare.

“For…later.” _When I’m sober_ , Barry wanted to add, but that sounded awkward even in his head so he kept quiet, his heart thundering in his ears.

Realization kindled in his eyes and the smile returned - the sight of which filled Barry with far more relief than it should have. “Later, Barry.”

“Time to go!” Iris’ presence made him jerk on the stool, nearly sliding off before his friend was dragging him off, flashing him a strange look as the bartender chuckled. Barry nodded and hurried after her, unable to contain the bright, joyous bubble that grew, threatening to pop inside his chest the faster they hurried out of the building, Iris’ hand gripping his own fiercely.

(Half an hour after, that feeling swelled when his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. He may have snorted. Iris raised an eyebrow but he waved her off, grinning wide and untethered in the passenger seat.

 _It’s later._ )


	3. Coldflash, "Stop Being So Cute"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Stop being so cute" for Coldflash
> 
> Mentions of character death.

The last thing Barry expected to see when he opened the door at two in the morning, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes and feeling the cricks in his neck from the awkward position he’d been dozing off in, was a glowering, sopping wet criminal with his parka hood thrown up against the storm outside the door.

Barry blinked. Then blinked again, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming still.

“Are you going to let me in, Barry,” Leonard Snart sneered, the fur along his hood blowing every which way as it framed his face, “or are you going to stare?”

Okay, so not a dream, then.

He threw the door open wider and stepped aside for Snart to move inside, hardly caring about how the rain blew in regardless of his efforts to shut the door the moment the man was indoors. Barry glanced up the stairs; Joe, Wally and Iris had gone to bed no more than an hour ago and he didn’t want to wake them.

He had the feeling that the three of them would be less than pleased to find Captain Cold - to see that Barry had _opened the door for Captain Cold_ \- into the house in the middle of the night.

Snart lowered his hood and shed the parka with a grimace, looking very much like a disgruntled wet cat. It was strange to see him in the West house when the last time he’d set foot there - _broke in_ , his sleep-deprived brain reminded him - had been Christmas almost a year ago. Come to think of it, Barry hadn’t seen him at all until he’d heard about the Legends and their mission.

Things had been almost…quiet without him. Not that Barry didn’t have enough problems to deal with - and he really was grateful that there had been little activity from the Rogues lately - but it felt, in a weird way, _right_ to see Snart again.

Despite the shelter his hood had provided, droplets of rain still dripped from his shorn hair, a couple following the curve of his Adam’s apple. Barry’s eyes traced their path lazily.

“Did I wake you?”

“Hmm?” Barry met Snart’s sharp gaze with a start. “Oh, um, no. I… I wasn’t sleeping.” It’d been harder to sleep without having nightmares as of late. He’d taken to sleeping on the couch downstairs so he didn’t wake the Wests, which was the sole reason he’d heard the knocking at the front door at all.

“Had a late night playing hero?”

“You know, you technically have no right to tease me about that. You’ve been off ‘playing hero’ with the Legends for months,” Barry pointed out, unsuccessfully fighting back a smile.

A muscle ticked in Snart’s jaw at the reminder, though something in his eyes seemed to lose their hard glint. He paused, looking Barry up and down slow, as if he had all the time in the world. Barry hadn’t had time to change, and he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was dressed only in his S.T.A.R. Labs sweats. His face burned.

Snart raised an eyebrow, lips quirking up at the corners. The expression made him look less like a drowning cat. The way his eyes lingered on Barry’s bare chest was _not_ accidental.

“I suppose so.”

Barry opened his mouth - he wasn’t sure what he would’ve even said to that - and realized in the same second that Snart was still dripping onto the floor, holding his soaked parka in front of him. “Right! Um, let me just -” He took the coat, hanging it on the coat rack to dry, and started backing toward the stairs. “You’ve got to be freezing and you definitely need to change. Just, uh, stay here while I get you some dry clothes?”

The last part came out more like a question but he hardly wasted time waiting to see if Snart obeyed, flashing upstairs into his room to search through his closet. He decided on a pair of old sweats and an ugly snowman Christmas sweater Cisco had gifted him last year (just because he was allowing Snart into the house didn’t mean he couldn’t amuse himself in the process) before returning to the first floor to find the man still standing where he’d left him. Snart only took a moment to blink away the afterimage of Barry’s lightning before accepting the clothes and retreating to the hall to change.

(He should’ve found it worrying that a wanted criminal knew his way around his house well enough not to ask where the bathroom was, but he’d long since gotten used to the ridiculousness that was his life.)

Barry moved to the kitchen, pulling open the kitchen cabinets as quietly as possible as he set to work making hot chocolate (maybe it was the memory of Snart’s last “visit” - or the lack of sleep - that made him choose the reindeer mug for the other man, but he’d deny it until his last breath). By the time Snart returned from the bathroom, he was pouring the drink into the mugs, humming under his breath.

“Still out of marshmallows?”

Barry chuckled, pushing the reindeer mug across the counter towards Snart without looking up. “It’s not Christmas yet. If we kept marshmallows in the house all year long, they wouldn’t last more than a week.”

Snart gave a vague hum of acknowledgement and Barry glanced up, his throat tightening. He’d thought it would be funny to watch the thief pad around the kitchen in an ugly Christmas sweater, but he had _highly_ underestimated the way it clung to Snart’s form, just this side of too small, with the sleeves slightly bunched at the ends since Barry’s arms were longer. Rainbow bulbs were strung across the neckline and stretched a little too tight over his chest, with a fair amount of glitter and frayed cotton balls glued onto his shoulders. The twinkling snowman on the front seemed to mock him with its cheery grin as Snart took a sip from his mug. He didn’t even look bothered by the fact that he was wearing such a garish sweater.

Barry didn’t know how to reconcile this…this ( _soft, adorable, ridiculous_ ) strange figure in the kitchen with the man who had once tried to kill him after he’d jumped off a moving train.

“Why were you out in the rain?” he asked, taking a sip from his own mug.

Snart’s brow creased for a moment, smoothing out so fast Barry wondered if he could have imagined it. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “It’s two in the morning on a Monday. You’ve been gone for almost a year and we both know you could’ve gone home - or, _wherever_ home is for you, maybe a safe house or something or - I don’t know. The point is, why are you _here_?”

Snart remained quiet, taking another drink of his hot chocolate and leaning his hip against the counter. Now that Barry had the chance to look at him, because it really had been _almost a year_ since he’d shoved the other man against the fireplace where they’d stared each other down in front of Iris, he noticed how the age lines around Snart’s eyes seemed more prominent, faint bags standing stark against his high cheekbones. He hadn’t thought to ask Ray or Professor Stein or even Jax or Kendra on what their mission was about - Stein had muttered something about time travel, which summed it up apparently - but the toll of the mission was clearly taking its course. Snart looked so tired, so resigned to the line of questioning.

Barry had been tempted to tease him more about joining the heroes, about becoming a Legend, but the itch to rekindle their back-and-forth banter about the issue faded the longer he stared patiently. Something behind those pale blue eyes made him hesitant to press.

He was halfway through his hot chocolate and contemplating changing the subject when Snart spoke, low and careful, as if he were trying not to spook a small animal. “You know, kid, I wouldn’t recommend dying. Nor resurrection, for that matter. It’s a lot more painful than they make it look in the movies.”

Barry’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t mean -

“Then again,” Snart continued, ignoring the look of - well, of whatever was on Barry’s face as he struggled to process the idea of Snart _dying_ , “knowing you and your do-gooder pals at S.T.A.R. Labs, you’d wind up creating some miracle cure for it anyway. After all, you do heal fast already. Could be useful in the future.”

“You…” Barry cleared his throat, setting down his mug. “You died?”

“Something to that extent, yes.” Couldn’t the man give him a straight answer for once?

“But then, how are you…?” Barry made an uncertain noise, pursing his lips. He wondered, for an absurd moment, if this was Snart’s idea of a practical joke. Despite the sardonic tone, he appeared serious. “Does Lisa know?”

Snart blinked, as if he hadn’t expected that be Barry’s next question. “I checked in on her first. She knows enough.”

So that was a no. Barry ran a hand over the back of his neck. Maybe he was still asleep after all. He didn’t like the way his gut churned at the implication that the man across from him had _died_ and _come back to life_ , and was acting like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t been _dead_.

Something about Snart’s affirmation nagged at him above all his concerns over the other being resurrected. “Wait…first?”

Snart scowled. The look was eerily similar to the one he’d worn earlier when Barry had rescued him from the pouring rain, as if he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar and knew he was backed into a corner but couldn’t find a way out. “Yes.”

Barry’s chest warmed. He thought back on Snart’s visit at Christmas, the false casual air as he warned him and Iris about Mardon and Jesse. The drawl behind _I’m not as…invested as they are._

He could be reading into this too much. Maybe he was too sentimental over…whatever this was. Whatever _they_ were. Enemies? Frenemies? They certainly weren’t friends. Drinking hot cocoa in the middle of the night and talking about returning from the dead didn’t feel like a ‘friend’ thing.

“Why are you… Why are you here, Snart?” The gentleness of his tone made the man’s eyes snap away from him.

“Death gives you a new perspective on things, I suppose.”

Or he could go back to beating around the bush. Barry sighed. “Stop being so…” He waved a hand at Snart, trying to find the word on the tip of his tongue to fit the man in front of him, who turned back to him expectantly, who was _far_ too comfortable in that sweater. _Sarcastic? Cold?_ (oh god, he was making puns now too) “Stop being so cute.”

 _That_ was not what he’d meant to say. His cheeks reddened as a flicker of surprise crossed Snart’s face.

Barry blamed his slip of the tongue entirely on that _damn snowman sweater_.

Snart set down his mug, that familiar smirk pulling at his mouth. “Cute?”

“Shut up.” Barry went to take a sip of his hot chocolate and grimaced. When had it gotten cold?

“Now Barry,” Snart drawled, “that’s not very nice.”

“Says the guy who broke into my house last Christmas and kidnapped two of my friends.”

“Says the guy who called me _cute_.”

Barry did not splutter as he moved away from the counter to put his mug in the sink. “We were discussing you _dying_ , don’t change the subject!”

“You changed it first,” Snart said, which - fuck, he had a point.

Barry dropped his mug into the sink and a yawn escaped him before he could stifle the sound. He glanced at the clock. He probably should get to bed soon, nightmares or not. Singh would be pissed if he fell asleep at his desk - again.

A hand planted itself on Barry’s right side, against the edge of the sink, and the other placed the reindeer mug lightly into the sink with Barry’s own, brushing his side. Barry turned before he could think better of it, swallowing hard at the heat behind Snart’s gaze as he took another step back against the cabinets. Snart moved further into his space immediately, tilting his head like he was merely challenging Barry to a game of chess.

Letting your nemesis cage you in against your kitchen counter was probably against some kind of superhero code. Then again, Barry didn’t feel too much like a superhero in just sweatpants, facing down the menacing villain dressed in a goddamn Christmas sweater.

Snart brought his free hand up to thumb over his bottom lip and Barry’s grip on the counter behind him tightened, his shoulders tensing. He could feel Snart’s breath fanning over his face, the faint scent of aftershave and pine registering. Why that was important, he didn’t know.

“We’re still going to talk about the whole dying thing,” Barry said. His voice came out hoarser than he intended.

His smirk grew, eyes darting to Barry’s mouth in a way that could _definitely_ not be quantified as _cute_. “But not at this moment?”

_That smug little -_

Barry yanked him forward by the front of that stupid, glittery snowman sweater, hands fisting in the red fabric as he crushed their lips together. Snart’s hands shot to Barry’s waist, erasing the inches between them as he pressed harder into the kiss. Barry exhaled in surprise and Snart took the opportunity to nip at his lower lip, wringing another, more approving noise out of him.

Snart let out a chuckle against his lips as Barry moved his hands to cup the other’s jaw, his fingernails scraping the back of his head lightly. He must have toweled off the excess rain in the bathroom; his scalp was only slightly damp, steadily drying in the heat of the kitchen and their flush bodies.

They were talking later. Absolutely going to talk. Later.

He definitely wasn’t getting any sleep after this.


	4. Coldflash, "Hold Still"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Hold still" for Coldflash. 
> 
> Mentions of injuries and guns and violence.

The wet cloth against his forehead soothed the dull ache, now a faint red from the blood it soaked up. Len remained quiet as Barry pressed lightly, the cloth brushing his widow’s peak as he watched Barry frown. The worst of his injuries had already been attended to, and the blood had thankfully dried by now, crusting over on his knuckles and forehead. Barry had insisted on removing the excess, however.

Len didn’t have any fight in him at the moment.

Granted, he knew he ought to have said something before he ran out two hours prior, should have woken Barry or murmured a quick goodbye. He knew it hadn’t been fair to run off at the first sign of danger, his heart in his throat as he’d struggled into his clothes, unable to hang up on Mick. Hell, he’d lectured Barry more than once on the danger of leaping recklessly into unknown situations. Too many instances of sitting at his bedside in S.T.A.R. Labs had cemented that routine for him.

Len could still hear the urgency in Mick’s voice even now: the careful evenness to his tone, the initial pause when he’d asked what was wrong and what the hell was so important that he needed to be woken at -

“Hold still,” Barry murmured, the low sound jerking him from his thoughts. He must have twitched back as Barry cleaned the cut.

He didn’t meet Barry’s gaze, shifting forward on his spot at the edge of the couch so he could continue to dab.

Barry was always gentle, so gentle whenever he got hurt on a heist or a team-up (which he still liked to tease Len about, though both knew it was all in good fun). He would get angry when Len took unnecessary hits for him, yes, but he always softened in the aftermath after the adrenaline faded and the pair were left alone.

Len had never seen Barry truly angry until he’d flashed into the warehouse not an hour ago.

Barry set aside the cloth, flashing to the bathroom to leave it to soak in the sink before returning in less than a second. He pulled out the package of Band-Aids, his brow creased into a firm line as he began to open it.

Len enjoyed silence. More often than not, he found it a useful tool to read others, understand what they weren’t saying. Observing people had become a habit, one he didn’t mind partaking in whether he was working for an angle or simply sharing someone’s company. Making the other person squirm in their seat was also a shameless perk, one he’d used on Barry himself many times before they’d started…whatever this was.

He was beginning to understand why people called silence “stifling”.

The box opened under Barry’s fingers, the cardboard tearing as he withdrew a large Band-Aid (he considered it a mercy that Barry hadn’t brought out his ridiculous cartoon-style Band-Aids). The harsh noise caused Len to shut his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

Barry’s fiddling with the paper surrounding the Band-Aid paused. Len glanced away, focusing on the pictures on the opposite wall of the apartment. Iris’ smiling face seemed to glare at him accusingly.

“What for?” He didn’t sound enthused by the apology.

“I shouldn’t have left without saying anything.”

Barry snorted. Len’s eyes flitted toward him involuntarily. “You really think _that’s_ why I’m mad?”

They both knew the answer to that.

Barry set the Band-Aid and the box on the coffee table with a sigh when Len remained silent. “Len…”

He hated the soft tone, the sadness edging on disappointment he didn’t want to voice. Len clenched his jaw.

“I get it,” Barry said. “I do. If it had been Joe or Iris, I would’ve -” He huffed another sigh. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Len knew that. He didn’t need it confirmed out loud, not when he’d been staring down the barrel of a gun an hour ago, preparing plan after plan in his head after Plans A through D had flopped because he _couldn’t_ fail, not when it was -

“You almost died.”

“I know.”

That didn’t satisfy Barry; for the first time since they’d returned home he raised his voice. “Len, if I hadn’t gotten there you would’ve - !”

“ _I know_.”

“I don’t think you do!”

Len faced him, gritting his teeth against the pain in his neck. The bruises weren’t fully healed yet. “This wasn’t the first time, kid,” he reminded him, “and it won’t be the last. Kind of comes with the job description.”

Barry ran a hand through his hair, his eyes bright with emotion. Len was tempted, despite his rising irritation, to seize the hand and hold it against his chest. “You left without telling me and if Cisco hadn’t been alerted -”

“Still not sure how I feel about Ramon getting alerts every time I fire the damn gun.”

“Well, I’m glad he did!” Barry snapped. “Len, if I hadn’t gotten there in time -”

His stomach churned. “I was _handling it_.”

“You _almost died, damn it_!”

Len made to stand but this time he couldn’t hide the grimace as his ribs protested. Barry pulled him back onto the couch, his frustration giving way quickly to concern. The barely-there pressure of his hands on Len’s shoulders only served to wrench the knife twisting in his insides, light and cautious, as if Len were a priceless figure on the verge of toppling off the high shelf.

Barry must have sensed the reason the tension returned to Len’s shoulders. He slid his hands away, moving them to rest beside Len’s thigh. If he was gearing up for another attempt at a lecture, Len wasn’t in the mood.

However, before he could put an end to the argument, Barry whispered, “She’s okay, Len. She’s going to be okay.”

Len shut his eyes.

“I mean it.”

He didn’t doubt that, of course he didn’t. He saw the way the team at the labs had warmed - some slower than others - to his and Lisa’s (and, on the rare occasion, Mick’s) presence. The hand Cisco had laid on his shoulder earlier in spite of knowing how easily he could’ve slapped it aside or frozen it proved as much. Caitlin’s steady reassurances - even as she scolded him and Mick about not pulling their new stitches - didn’t leave him concerned about leaving his sister under the doctor’s watchful eye. She’d be fine. He knew that.

The memory of Lisa’s half-conscious snarl directed at the Santinis still swam behind his eyelids.

“Hey.” A warm hand slid into his and Len bit back a (pathetic) noise as he opened his eyes.

Barry squeezed his fingers, careful not to damage the bruised skin of his knuckles. The soft smile shouldn’t have made his chest throb.

“She’ll be okay,” Barry repeated. “Mick too.”

Mick would be fine. The man had sustained far worse injuries than a concussion, some caused indirectly by Len himself. Remembering Mick’s abandonment wasn’t going to help the situation, though.

“I’m sorry,” Len said.

Barry stared, the sad downward slant of his lips deepening as he searched Len’s face. Not to look for honesty - there was no need for that tonight, not when neither had the energy to lie - but for some form of understanding, perhaps.

 _I couldn’t let them hurt you too_ , he wanted to say.

If he found what he was looking for, Barry didn’t show it. He reached for the discarded Band-Aid with his free hand and sent Len a thin smile.

“Hold still?”

Len hesitated only a moment before squeezing Barry’s fingers in lieu of answering aloud, watching a glimmer of humor brighten those eyes more than the unshed tears that lingered. He didn’t object when Barry let go of his hand to open the Band-Aid, smoothing it over the skin above his brow before taking one of his hands again. He had a feeling Barry needed the comfort almost as much as he did.


	5. Coldflash, "Wait, When Did I Take Off My Clothes?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt (which I'm _just now_ realizing I got wrong): "Wait, when did I take off my clothes?” & "Try not to gasp" for Coldflash or Coldflashwave please!"
> 
> I went with just the first prompt, sorry!

****“Wait, when did I take off my clothes last night?” Barry called over his shoulder. He probably should’ve felt more embarrassed about searching on his hands and knees to check under his boyfriend’s bed for his underwear, but Len was the only one home and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen Barry naked before.

Len’s chuckle carried from the kitchen. “What is this, the fifth time?”

“ _Len_.”

“Seriously, Scarlet, how strong is that drink of Snow’s?”

“I wasn’t drunk by then,” Barry insisted. All he could see were shoes and boxes under the bed. No luck. “I must have dropped them _somewhere_ , damn it.”

“Did you check under the bed?”

Barry sighed and stood. “Yeah, just did.” He flashed around the room, rechecking the closet and under the comforter that had been knocked off last night after they had fumbled their way into the bed. He sighed again, gripping the back of his head in frustration as he came to a stop by the door. “Shit! I’m gonna be late!”

“Why don’t you just borrow mine?”

Barry was grateful Len was busy making blueberry pancakes and couldn’t see how his cheeks burned. Not that it was a bad idea, of course. Sure, some of the shirts were a bit small but Barry was sure he could fit into one of the sweaters and a few of Len’s jeans, though they might be tight –

Clothes. Coffee date with Iris. Right.

“Um, are you sure? I mean, I feel bad, and I don’t want to have to steal yours when I’m the one who lost – ”

Another laugh, this time softer and unmistakably fond. His heart swelled at the sound, forgetting the urgency of the situation for a second more. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t fine with it.”

“Really?”

“ _Barry._ ”

He flashed back toward the closet, throwing on a larger navy sweater of Len’s, some boxers and a pair of jeans before running into the kitchen. He made sure to snatch a pancake from the plate Len had started filling for him and come to a stop by the counter, humming around the oversized bite in his mouth.

Fuck, Len made such good pancakes. Barry definitely regretted not having enough time to finish off his plate before he had to run to _Jitters_.

“Thanks,” he said, finishing the pancake quickly. “I’ll see you for dinner?”

Len’s eyes roamed over Barry with little shame. He made a vague noise in agreement but the way his pupils darkened suggested his attention was otherwise occupied.

“Len.”

“Hmm?” His gaze flitted back up, unconcerned with being caught, to meet Barry’s look of amusement.

“Dinner?”

Len rolled his eyes. “I’ll be here, Barry. Promise.” He accepted the lightning-fast peck to his cheek with a twitch of his lips. “Now _dash along_ , Miss West is waiting.”

Barry couldn’t help but laugh before kissing Len again at Flash speed and running out the door, sneaking yet another pancake from the plate for the road.


	6. Coldflash, Post-Oculus Au 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I wish you would write a fic where Barry goes back in time to save Len (from the oculus) and has to deal with the consequences (whether it's len getting powers from it or fucking up time or creating aberrations that the legends now have to clean up) as well as his raging crush on the newly-revived len"

****“So,” Cisco said slowly, coming over to stand by Barry’s side as they watched Snart - Len, he’d insisted - behind the glass, his eyes pulsing blue and unseeing as he sat with his back against the treadmill, “do you regret it?”

“Hmm?”

Cisco gestured toward the glass. “You know, bringing him back?”

Barry shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as his brow furrowed in confusion. “What? No. I mean, the aberrations weren’t part of the plan, obviously, but…” He sighed. “It’s just… It’s good to see him again. Even like this.”

Cisco hummed in agreement (well, maybe not quite agreement, given that Len had found a way to steal half of his candy on his first week back from the Oculus. And there was the whole ‘kidnapping me and my brother’ thing, never mind that it had been a few years since then). 

Barry glanced back at Len. A smile tugged helplessly at his lips as he followed Len’s outstretched hand, his veins bright blue and snaking up his arms and neck under the S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt, his hand tracing the floor as he concentrated. A snap of his fingers, a burst of light from their tips, and the notebook Caitlin had given him to write down his progress appeared in his lap, as if it had always been there. Len smirked, eyes still blank, and the glow in his veins began to fade.

“And the way you’re staring at him had nothing to with it?”

He blinked, turning back to Cisco, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Barry, if the knowing look was anything to go by. “Uh, what?”

“Just saying.” His friend shook his head and started back toward the main lab. “A guy can only stay oblivious through so much eye-fucking, man.”

Barry gawped after him, struggling to come up with a response. That was _utterly_ … He _wasn’t_ … It wasn’t like that!

“Just saying!” Cisco called as he rounded the corner.

He hadn’t brought Len back to do…that. Really. Where in the hell was Cisco getting _that_ idea? 

He quickly shut his mouth when he saw Len stand behind the glass, meeting the man’s frosty gaze as he twisted the notebook in one hand. Len’s smirk only grew before he headed for the door, something warm twisting in Barry’s gut at the familiar sight. It’d been years since he’d seen him and it still ached to think of him as floating around in scattered time pieces in the Oculus’ aftermath.

Sure, the Legends were going to be pissed when they arrived after their mission (Sara had definitely looked it despite the relief in her eyes when they’d explained the situation) but Barry couldn’t bring himself to care. He wasn’t putting him back. He couldn’t. He owed Len that much.

“You gonna stand there all day, Barry?” said man teased as he stepped through the doorway. He brushed Barry’s shoulder as he walked past, a jolt of _something_ passing between them, something not quite electric but just as heated. Barry couldn’t help but smile as he followed.

…Okay, maybe Cisco had a point.


	7. Coldflash, Fake Dating Exes Au 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I wish you would write a fic where Barry and Len are exes and meet again at a party where they have to pretend to be together for whateverr reason all night"

“What the hell are you doing here?” Barry hissed. He cast a look over his shoulder; thankfully, Iris was far too busy chatting with Eddie to realize who he had bumped into and nearly spilled his drink all over (not that he would’ve minded now that he _knew_ whose suit he had almost ruined). While he appreciated Iris and Eddie tagging along for the science gala tonight with him, the last thing he wanted was for his best friend to cause a scene because she recognized his ex.

(”I only regret that I didn’t get to punch him in the face,” Iris had grumbled on the couch all those months ago, pulling him into a hug as she turned on the movie for their ‘break-up marathon’, as she put it. “What a jackass. If I ever see him again, I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind.”)

Leonard Snart tilted his head appraisingly at Barry, giving him a shameless once-over with those blue eyes. Barry hated the way his cheeks burned at the stare. He knew he wasn’t dressed nearly as well as half the guests here, but Eddie had let him borrow a suit for the night and knowing Snart - he refused to call him _Len_ after everything - he could likely tell where it was smaller on Barry.

He, of course, looked stunning in his navy suit, perfectly tailored and fit to his form as always. Barry remembered when they’d went to Lisa’s wedding and he’d wound up spending most of the night simply gaping at the other’s tux before dragging him home.

Now wasn’t the time to be remembering that, though. That was six months ago, back when Barry had believed he might one day marry that man who’d laughed with him and kissed him and spent nights holding each other close when nightmares crept in. Back before he had called and hung up on Barry before he could get a word in edgewise.

The funny thing was, despite everything, it felt as if it were only yesterday.

“Same thing as you, Barry,” Snart said, the all-too-memorable drawl sending unwanted shivers down his spine. “What kind of patron would I be if I didn’t come out to support the sciences?”

Barry rolled his eyes. “Since when have you ever cared about science?”

“You’d be surprised. There’s a lot of things I care about.”

“Well, excuse me if I find that hard to believe,” Barry said sweetly, fighting back the urge to grind his teeth together. He took a long sip from his champagne glass in hopes of steeling his nerves. God, he wished he could get drunk.

Something flickered over Snart’s expression that Barry couldn’t decipher. He wondered if he’d ever truly understood this man, or if it’d all just been a lie.

Before he could respond, though, a woman in purple materialized, as if out of thin air, by Snart’s side. Her eyes darted to Barry curiously before she whispered something in Snart’s ear that made him nod. It was only as she disappeared once more that Barry realized just where - well, more like _whom_ \- he’d seen use that parlor trick.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“Don’t know what you mean, Barry.”

“Tell me you’re not organizing a heist at this gala!”

Snart’s mouth twitched. “Alright, then I won’t.”

“ _Snart_.”

“Relax, kid,” Snart said, looking completely unperturbed by the conversation. He didn’t even look at Barry as he spoke, scanning the room, likely casing it and mapping out the exits ( _if he hadn’t already_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind). “We’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Barry groaned and set his glass on the nearest refreshment table. So much for a night off. “You’re not stealing anything while I’m here.”

Snart raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

“You’re staying out here where I can see you,” Barry warned, poking a finger at the other’s chest. “That includes _all_ of your Rogues. The last thing we both want is a fight.”

“Hmm. I don’t know, sounds fairly exciting to me.”

“You’re staying _out here_.”

Snart met his eyes this time. The cold stare was both unwelcome and familiar. It’d been a long while since it’d been used against him. “You really think you can keep an eye on all of us?”

“Even if it means following you around all night,” Barry growled. Something in his stomach curled at the thought and he shoved the feeling down.

Snart looked him over again, slower and more cautious this time, as if he were weighing the odds. They both knew Barry could put the Rogues away in prison in less than a minute, before anyone could blink, but outing himself at a public gala was risky. There were too many people around to hide his speed from.

Still, he couldn’t let Le - _Snart_ rob anyone here. No matter what they had once been, he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the situation.

“All night?” He almost sounded amused.

“All night.”

To his surprise, a ghost of what appeared to be a smile danced on his lips. Snart stepped closer, causing Barry to straighten, until they were nose-to-nose, mere inches apart.

“I suppose we’ve got a deal then, Scarlet.”


	8. Coldflash, Hurt/Comfort, Rescue from Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I wish you’d write a coldflash Fic where Len gets kidnapped by a rival gang during a heist and Barry comes to his rescue and finds Len kinda beat up so he takes him home (NOT to star labs) and threats his wounds"
> 
> Mentions of violence and blood and medical equipment.

“Whoa, dude! Where you going?”

“I think I’m gonna call it a night, actually, guys.” Barry sped into his apartment, not bothering to unlock the door, and hit the lights. He set Snart upright on his couch. The thief grimaced, still looking rather disoriented but the change of scenery, but said nothing. “It’s been a quiet night. And I, uh, have a case to look over for tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Cisco sounded a little skeptical (which was warranted, given how weak the lie sounded even to Barry’s ears).

“We can call you if anything happens,” Caitlin offered.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Barry turned off his comms with little preamble and flashed into a sweater and jeans before stopping in front of the couch once again.

Snart raised an eyebrow. Barry fought the urge to cringe at the glimmer of pain that crossed his face at the motion; the bruises on his jaw and above his eye certainly didn’t look pleasant. “A case, huh?”

“Well, I doubt Joe would be happy to find you in the Labs and Cisco and Caitlin would’ve asked too many questions. Unless you’re more injured than you look?” Barry moved forward, searching for injuries with a flick of his eyes. It was hard to tell what had happened before he’d arrived in the warehouse and the heavy parka wasn’t helping him see what he needed to patch up. “How do you feel?”

“Peachy,” Snart shot back, a thin smirk crossing his features.

Barry rolled his eyes and headed for the bathroom, finding his first aid kit in one of the cabinets. “If it’s that bad, then I’m going to need Caitlin’s help. I’m no medical expert.”

“Really, Scarlet, I’m fine.”

Right. Those bruises definitely looked fine. The drying blood on his nose after Barry had knocked out the gang, likely from a hard punch minutes before, was just fine. The way his eyes had fluttered, the hoarse whisper of Barry’s name that escaped his lips when he’d scooped him into his arms, were one hundred percent fine.

Barry let out a shaky breath. The anger roiling in his chest was starting to fade now that the danger had passed, but just thinking about the look on Snart’s face when he’d arrived sent new waves of something uncomfortable spiraling through him.

He walked out of the bathroom and set the kit on the coffee table. Snart had removed his parka thankfully, though he was moving slow, probably so he didn’t hurt himself further. He flashed to the kitchen to grab an ice pack and dropped it beside the man, which wrought a small chuckle out of him. Snart eyed the bandages as Barry turned to him expectantly.

“I’m gonna need to take a look at you.” He nodded toward the black sweater Snart still wore. “Just in case.” 

Snart’s eyes narrowed immediately. “Not necessary.”

“Look,” Barry sighed and dropped to his knees, pulling some of the gauze and bandages out of the kit and onto the table, “the sooner you let me look at you, the quicker this’ll be over with. Those guys weren’t holding back when I got there.”

“I _can_ take care of myself, Barry.”

“Ugh, just - just take off your shirt, will you?”

The smirk pulled back onto his face. “My, my, so forward.”

Barry sent him a glare but this time Snart obeyed. He stripped off his sweater and tossed it onto the cushion beside him, wincing at the movement. Barry leaned forward, gently grazing the other’s skin with his fingers, feeling for injuries. It looked like he was bruised here too, but not too badly. No ribs seemed to be broken.

Still, he had to be sure. He made sure to be careful when pressing the ice to one of the darker bruises as Snart hissed quietly above him.

“Having fun down there?” Even through gritted teeth, the man managed to sound smug.

“Maybe next time don’t piss off an entire gang and you won’t need me to patch you up.”

“That a promise?”

Barry glanced up. Despite the new cut on his upper lip and the various bruises across his torso and face, Snart looked right at ease sitting on his couch, half-naked and entirely too pleased with himself. Barry couldn’t help but shake his head at the sight. The answering quirk of those lips did nothing to stop the flutter of something, dare he say, content pass through him.

Snart winced again as Barry began wrapping the bandages around his chest not quite as gently.

“Definitely not,” Barry said. If Snart noticed the smile tugging at his mouth, he said nothing of it.


	9. Coldflash, Hostage Au 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Could you write a coldflash fic, in an alternate universe with no powers. Len is still a thief. Barry is still a cute little nerd. They don’t know each other. Basically Len (and his roges) happens to rob a bank in which Barry is and Len takes him hostage (he randomly chooses someone in the bank)"

“Get up.” One of the thieves, likely the leader if the way the other two deferred to him was of any importance, hauled Barry to his feet by his forearm. Barry bit back a hiss, more annoyed than pained, as he stumbled, trying to regain his balance. The woman he’d been sitting next to scooted away a few inches, as if by moving away from Barry she’d be safer.

_Gee, thanks._

Well, he supposed it was his own fault for deciding to head to the bank this morning. He was long past overdue on paying his rent and he’d been hoping to get the payment in by tonight before his landlord kicked him out. So, yeah, he’d been a little cranky when three criminals brandishing guns marched in to take them hostage and steal their money and ruined any chance of him paying his rent.

And he probably shouldn’t have made that snarky comment to the thief’s face while he was at it.

Said thief tilted his head at him now, eyes lingering on his scowl for a few moments. The group was dressed in all black but apparently they’d decided to forgo masks to conceal their identities, allowing Barry to get a better look at their faces as well. Whether it was out of cockiness or they simply didn’t care about getting arrested, he didn’t know.

The man who held Barry smirked, a sly, knowing look, and Barry realized he’d been caught staring back. He blamed his lingering irritation on the flush he could feel burning his ears.

“Mick,” he called. He didn’t bother turning to look at whoever he was - ah, the burly man who was moving toward them now. “Tell Lisa to get a move on. I think we got ourselves a getaway ticket.”

Barry’s stomach dropped. “Oh, hell -”

“You got it, boss.” The other man, Mick, murmured something in the ear of the last criminal - the only woman of the group, Lisa, apparently - and she laughed, shaking her head before hurrying her efforts to fit all the cash in the bag she was stuffing. The hostages near Mick eyed him warily, not that Barry could blame them.

“I’m really not worth the trouble,” Barry tried as his arms were pulled behind his back. Joe was expecting him back at the precinct in less than fifteen minutes; what the hell was he supposed to do now? 

He really hoped they weren’t planning on killing him afterward (and wow, wasn’t that a nice train of thought to dwell on).

The thief hummed, making quick work of zip-tying his wrists before regaining his grip on Barry’s upper arm, though it was gentler this time. Barry did _not_ shiver at the look in those blue eyes. “Hmm. Well, I don’t know about that. After all, if I’m not mistaken, we’re - how did you put it? - ‘making a mess of your afternoon’.” Barry swallowed hard. “Might as well make it worth your while, kid.”

He didn’t doubt that Joe would be pissed to find him missing. At least then Singh wouldn’t be expecting him to file the reports he’d left on his desk before the end of the day. Barry nearly groaned as he was pulled toward the doors of the bank.

It was the small victories that counted, he supposed.


	10. Coldflash, Playing Doctor Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "could you write a cold flash fic where Barry is a medical student and gets kidnapped by Mick and Lisa who take him to a warehouse where Len is hurt because he was shot or something and they “ask” Barry to help him".
> 
> Mentions of blood and amateur tending of wounds.

It took Barry a couple of moments before the words sank in. “Wait, wait.” He frowned. “You want me to _w_ _hat_?”

The man, whom Lisa had introduced as Mick with that simper that didn’t help him feel any less cornered ( _criminals_ , he was being kidnapped by a pair of _criminals_ , _shit_ ) huffed. “Thought you said he was smart.”

“Hey!”

“Relax, Mickey,” Lisa said, not taking her eyes off the road. They turned into an abandoned parking lot in front of an equally abandoned-looking warehouse. Barry’s stomach flipped over itself with nerves. “Everything’s going to be fine. _R_ _ight_ , honey?”

The smile she flashed his way was sharp, stretched tight with worry and thinly veiled threats. Even if Barry hadn’t been wrestled into the car and zip-tied by her, that smile would’ve been more than enough warning for his gut to scream _Danger!_  
  
He was totally fucked.

Lisa parked the car and Mick got out before she fully came to a stop, moving to open the door and drag Barry out. The guy really had a thing for manhandling him. Barry didn’t bother fighting and allowed himself to be pulled into the warehouse; he’d already tried fighting and he wasn’t looking to embarrass himself a second time tonight.

Not that being kidnapped wasn’t embarrassing _e_ _nough_.

“Lise? That you?” A low voice called across the room. Barry, thankfully, managed to keep himself from jumping out of his skin at the echo.

The woman’s face softened for the first time. “It’s me and Mick, Lenny. We brought a friend.”

As Mick pulled him further into the warehouse, he realized there was a head poking up from the worn green couch, a grimace painting the man’s features as he shifted into a more upright position. Lisa rushed over to scold him, muttering something about pulling something or hurting himself further. Mick shoved him toward the couch and Barry inched closer, feeling strangely like he was intruding on a moment.

When Lisa had declared that he was going to be “fixing Lenny”, he hadn’t expected there to be this much blood.

The man glanced at Barry and scowled. “He’s just a kid, Lise.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me call Shawna,” she snapped. “Besides, he’s in school with her. They’re friends. He knows what he’s doing.”

“You really didn’t have to kidnap me, though.” Lisa waved a hand to hush him.

Something close to a smile tugged at the man’s, _Lenny’s_ apparently, mouth. “You kidnapped him?”

“Shut up and stop bleeding all over the cushions,” Mick grumbled.

“What do you need?” It took a second before Barry realized Lisa’s head had snapped back toward him, eyes narrowed. “To help him, I mean.”

“Didn’t realize you were that fond of the couch, Mick,” Lenny teased. How the man could be so snarky with two bullets lodged in his side was beyond Barry. “Weren’t you going to trade it in next week?”

“I said shut it. You’re dripping everywhere.”

(God, how was this his Friday night? Maybe he should’ve gone to that party at Patty’s instead of hanging at his dorm to study. Would’ve made it harder for him to get kidnapped, at least.)

Barry shook himself. A man was hurt. Even if he was a criminal, Barry wasn’t going to turn him away.

“You have a first aid kit?” Lisa nodded and sent Mick a look, which prompted the other to head for the bathroom. “Alright, I’m going to need that…and maybe some tweezers. Also, could you take these off?” Barry held out his zip-tied wrists, which were already turning his skin red from how tightly they dug in.

Lisa studied him for a second, as if weighing the merits of saying no, but she grabbed a pair of scissors and freed his hands. Mick returned as he started massaging the irritated skin, thrusting the kit at him.

“Do I get to know the name of my doctor?” Lenny quirked an eyebrow as Barry sat beside him on the couch, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood. At least he’d removed his shirt and decided to keep it pressed against the wounds. That would’ve been an awkward question to ask.

He didn’t really mind getting an eyeful of the other’s chest, though. Not too much.

“Stop flirting and let him work, jerk.” Lisa gave her brother’s head a playful swat, the tension in her shoulders beginning to finally fade as she moved across the warehouse toward the makeshift kitchen (really just a table, a few chairs, a fridge, and some shelves agains the far wall, but hey, not everyone running from the law lived in style).   
  
Mick chuckled, pulling out a lighter from his pocket and flicking it on. Barry wondered why he didn’t simply light a cigarette with it instead of staring (which, okay, was a little weird but not the strangest thing that had happened that night) but held back from asking.

“Gonna need a beer?” Mick asked. He didn’t take his eyes off the flame.

Lenny snorted. “Depending on how rough the kid gets.”

“I got it,” Lisa called.

Barry pushed Lenny’s hand and crumpled blood-stained shirt away from the wounds and picked up the tweezers. His chest clenched. Sure, he knew what he was doing, but it was a very different thing to be operating on a human being who was injured - not mention a criminal who’d been _s_ _hot_.

As if sensing Barry’s train of thought, Lenny patted his hand, the humor vanishing from his expression as he sobered. The warmth bleeding from his hand was somehow comforting. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m tougher than I look.”  
  
Lisa dropped the bottle of beer beside her brother, her eyes flitting between them before she left again. Barry swallowed and forced himself to nod.  
  
He adjusted his grip on the tweezers as Lenny picked up the beer, letting the man take a big gulp before he pressed against the skin. The grimace it pulled from Lenny was the only sign of his discomfort.

“Barry Allen.”

Lenny made a questioning noise as he dug deeper, biting down the urge to cringe as the man hissed. 

The first bullet wasn’t in too deep, thank god; it took a couple moments for him to yank it out, sighing in relief as he dropped it onto the coffee table with a soft clink.

“My name,” Barry clarified. “You asked.”

Even as the other took another drink, preparing himself before Barry dove back in, he caught the smile on his lips, nothing like Lisa’s dangerous, crooked grin. Something quiet stirred in Barry’s chest at the sight.

“Only fair you call me Len then, Barry.”

“You gonna make-out,” Mick said, unperturbed by the strangled sound Barry made or the return of Len’s scowl, “or fish that bullet out?”

“Stop flirting, so he can patch you up, Lenny!”

“For _f_ _uck’s sake,_ Lisa!” 


	11. Zamaya, "Don't Touch Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Don’t touch me,” For Vixenwave or Zamaya please".
> 
> I went with my personal headcanon of Zari being averse to most touching, so keep that in mind while reading.

“What are you doing?”

Zari didn’t bother looking over her shoulder to meet Amaya’s gaze; she continued battling the zombies onscreen, ignoring the twinge in her wrist every time she hit the buttons a little too hard to unleash her plant monsters. Whoever said using video games to let out your aggression was a good tactic was a liar.

Well, maybe she wasn’t supposed to be doing so after a particularly disheartening battle against a pair of would-be assassins displaced from their proper time period (fighting in a powdered wig was something she never wanted to do again, thank you very much), but it was satisfying to kick zombie butt - even if they were pixelated.

“Playing video games. Wanna join?”

“No thanks. And that’s not what I meant.” Amaya sounded stern. Zari couldn’t help the way her shoulders tensed at her tone.

“What’s up?”

“How are you doing after the mission today?”

Zari snorted and paused the game, using one hand to gesture toward the screen. “I’m fine. Just a little busy - ”

Amaya seized her wrist none-too-lightly and Zari hissed in pain, every instinct flaring with the urge to run or to fight back. Which was ridiculous, given that Amaya could easily kick her ass without trying. She tried to yank her wrist out of Amaya’s grasp but she held firm, crouching down to get a better look as she pushed the sleeve of her shirt away to eye the bruises.

“Why didn’t you go the med bay?”

Zari gave another tug to no avail. She tried to ignore the rising surge of something akin to panic in her chest. “I’m fine,” she repeated. “It’s just a bruise. Really.”

“Zari - ”

She tore her arm away and moved to stand. She yanked down her sleeve, feeling Amaya’s eyes boring into her, watching her movements like a hawk. The hell did she have to do to get some privacy around this ship?

“I’m just worried. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Zari rolled her eyes. “Amaya, seriously. It’ll be gone in a couple of days. I do know how to take care of myself.”

“Sara said she saw you get kicked in the ribs too.” Damn it. “At least go with me to the med bay so Gideon can check them out.”

Zari turned to face her for the first time. Speaking from experience, the other’s set jaw didn’t bode well. She ought to leave well enough alone, but the mothering was… It was too much.

She meant what she said. She could take care of herself just fine before these time-travelers showed up.

“I said no. Now leave it be.”

Amaya sighed and reached out, probably attempting to placate her. “Can you at least let me - ?”

Her fingers grazed the back of her hand and something deep inside Zari _snapped_ like a bowstring, taut and ready to fly off the handle. She stepped backward, pulling her arm to her chest as she grit her teeth because it was _fine,_ she was _fine_ and she certainly didn’t _need -_

“Zari - ”

“ _Don’t touch me_ ,” she snarled before she could stop herself. If she were a cat, she imagined she would be able to feel her hackles raising right about now.

It was unfair, the way Amaya stared back at her, like she understood all too well what she was feeling, like she was trying to be sympathetic. Like Zari was some sort of child who needed to be calmed down.

Okay, maybe she was being a little harsh with that last one.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know she ought to go, ought to let Amaya drag her away without kicking and screaming like a toddler. Part of her wanted to allow Amaya to touch her gently, to keep touching her bruises like they were fragile, for her to sit with her while Gideon rattled off her injuries and medications without fail.

The last time she let someone help her, though…

Let’s just say she learned to lick her own wounds after the world went to hell in a handbasket.

Amaya didn’t speak for a moment, just watched Zari focus on breathing. The tight ball of panic started to loosen in her chest the longer she did, somehow calmed when Amaya dropped her arm and simply waited, but she didn’t relax.

When Amaya did move - and Zari did _not_ tense up again when she did - she only sat on the floor, next to the forgotten controller, tucking her legs under her. How she did something so mundane so elegantly, like a princess resting on a picnic blanket, was beyond Zari.

“What game is this?” She nodded toward the screen, picking up the controller. The fascination in her eyes was muted next to the lingering concern, but it was hard to miss even from here.

“ _Plants vs. Zombies_.”

Amaya blinked. “What?”

Zari edged closer, her grip on her arm tightening. It caused her bruise to sting but she couldn’t care less. “Ray was going on about it before, I dunno. Thought I’d give it a try. It’s kinda stupid. And easy.”

Amaya hummed, dropping her gaze back to the controller. “You’re good at it.”

It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t a question. Something about her tone, certainly not stern or motherly now, made Zari’s cheeks warm. “Uh, thanks.”

Amaya smiled, soft and tentative, and the ball curled inside her unraveled without warning, letting itself become endless immeasurable strands that could never be rewound once more.

Maybe that was what let her go to the med bay later that night, after Amaya left. Maybe. 

But only after she finished showing the other woman how to kick zombie ass in the game first.


	12. Coldflash, Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "16 or 18 for Coldflash or Frostwave please?" 
> 
> Since 18 was "Will you marry me?" I went with that prompt (and Coldflash, because I didn't have enough practice writing Mick or Caitlin yet).

Barry hadn’t meant for Len to hear him the first time. After all, it was past two in the morning and he’d thought the other man was fast asleep. _Should’ve been_ , after coming home that evening off of the Waverider as a surprise.

The way he rolled over, lips parted in surprise, ignoring Barry’s choked noise of embarrassment, was hardly something someone fast asleep would be doing.

“What did you say?”

Barry laughed nervously and laid back down. He determinedly looked everywhere but at his boyfriend. Fuck, he’d been planning on _practicing_ this, not _actually asking him_ in the middle of the night when they were both drowsy and not ready for this conversation yet.

“Um, nothing. Sorry, I, um, didn’t realize. I thought you were, you know, asleep. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Len didn’t move. Barry was a little worried; he’d never seen the other go so still.

“Sorry. I’ll just - ” Barry tried to turn over but Len’s hand shot out to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him back to face him. His other hand flitted near his shoulder, as if Len were unsure whether he ought to pull him close or touch him at all. “Uh. Right. Are you - ?”

“Barry.”

He swallowed hard. At least it was fairly dark in the bedroom. Len wouldn’t be able to see him blushing, then. He hoped.

“Ask me again.”

Barry frowned. Surely he didn’t hear that right. “What?”

Len moved his hand to trace Barry’s jaw with his fingertips. Despite himself, Barry caught himself shivering - and certainly not from the chilly air on his arms. Why had he let Len change the temperature this morning? Even in December, his boyfriend had to have his cold apartment. Maybe he just loved that parka too much.

Not that Barry was complaining, considering it also entailed lots of cuddles and sweaters and three times the normal amount of blankets to be thrown onto the bed (amongst other things).

“Ask me,” Len murmured, his blue uncharacteristically fond as he met Barry’s gaze. “Ask me again.”

Barry hesitated but the light motions against his jaw, only the very pads of Len’s fingers touching his skin, was beginning to remind him of his own drowsiness and he took a shaky breath. “Len… I don’t even have the ring.”

Len’s thumb skimmed his lower lip and his breath caught. The flicker of satisfaction across Len’s face shouldn’t have been that attractive.

“Can get it later.” He tried to stifle the hopeful swell in his chest at _later_ , like it promised things he didn’t dare think about at this time of night. “Ask me again.”

Barry twisted his fingers in the sheets. He swallowed again.

“Len,” Barry whispered, “will you marry me?”

His boyfriend’s thumb stilled on his lip, his other hand uncurling from where it had remained tangled in his t-shirt. Barry held his breath as Len scanned his expression, the corners of his mouth quirking from whatever he found there. He leaned forward and used his free hand to cup the other side of Barry’s head.

Their breaths mingled as Len said, slow, as if he had all the time in the world before he needed to press his lips to Barry’s, “I thought you’d never ask.” 


	13. Coldflash, "I Don't Know What to Say"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I don't know what to say" for Coldflash

Barry ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. These reports to Singh were almost fifteen minutes late already and all the recent late night patrols seemed to be catching up with him - Barry could barely keep his eyes open.

Hopefully the chief wouldn’t mind the few scribbled lines that were starting to appear more and more illegible by the minute.

He grimaced and squinted at the last line he’d written. His b’s were starting to look more like d’s at this point, and vice versa, which made for unusual sentences when it involved the words “blood” and “DNA samples”.

“Maybe I should call it a night,” Barry murmured under his breath, rubbing his eyes with free hand.

“Maybe so if you’re about to keel over, kid.”

Barry spun around, nearly tripping before his boyfriend steadied him with a hand, far too amused by the look on Barry’s face. Thankfully there were few beakers around for him to knock off the table this time; why Len thought it was a good idea to keep surprising him in the lab when he was busy was beyond him. There were only so many times he could explain away the cracks in some of the beakers he couldn’t catch in time.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the tired smile that tugged at his lips. “Good thing you’re here to catch me, right?”

Len rolled his eyes but he didn’t release Barry’s arm. It was a strangely comforting feeling. “That was terrible.”

“Yet you’re still here,” Barry teased. “Though, not to sound rude, but why are you here? There are still plenty of cops working right now. Anyone could’ve recognized your face.”

“If I planned on being arrested tonight, Barry, I would’ve brought the cold gun and my parka.” His thumb traced the skin over Barry’s upper arm, sending a small shiver through his veins. Len, the smug jerk, smirked at the sight.

It was weird to see him in civilian clothing in the precinct, considering the last time they’d been here together Len was being arrested with Mick. He almost appeared out-of-place in his black sweater and jeans. The sunglasses and baseball cap on his head definitely didn’t fit the non-threatening image he was going for.

“Stop worrying,” Len told him, tilting his head at the look Barry sent him. “The only cop who saw me was West, and you know he won’t say anything.”

Not out of the goodness of his heart, of course. Barry pictured Joe stumbling into his criminal boyfriend on the stairs up to his lab, the scowl it wrought not unlike the one he’d worn when Barry had broken the news of their relationship to him in his living room two months ago, and had to laugh. He owed Joe one - and was likely going to receive a lecture on warning him when Len would be waltzing into the precinct. 

“Alright, I get it. Doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”

Len’s smirk faded at the edges. “So you did forget.”

Barry’s stomach dropped. “What did - ?” He scrambled for his phone across the table and groaned as the missed notifications lit up the screen.

 _Shit_. Their dinner with Lisa.

It was the second time this month he’d forgotten, too.

“Ugh, Len, I’m so sorry. I lost track of the time, I - ” He ran his hands through his hair again, glancing away. He knew how much this dinner meant to Len. They hadn’t had a proper dinner with Lisa since Barry had officially met her as her brother’s boyfriend and not as the Flash. The two of them had really been looking forward to dinner with her. “I don’t know what to say.”

Len tilted his chin up with the crook of his finger. Something close to fondness crossed his face, which honestly only made Barry feel worse. He really should’ve seen this coming, to be honest. It wasn’t as if he’d had the best track record with being on time in the first place.

Missing dinner with your boyfriend and his sister by over an hour and a half was, quite frankly, unacceptable.

“Scarlet,” Len said, his tone eerily similar to Joe’s when Barry and Iris had wrecked his car after taking it for a joyride, though more patient and much less outraged than Joe had been, “do you really think I don’t know you well enough by now to book reservations a couple hours later than we plan them?”

Barry blinked. “I… Wait, what?”

The smirk returned, softer and more teasing this time. “Our reservation is in an hour. I trust you’ll be able to finish and get dressed in time?”

“ _You_ \- “ Len raised an eyebrow in askance and Barry’s exasperation began to dissolve. “You could’ve told me I had time, jerk.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Barry shook his head. A voice suspiciously close to Iris’ in the back of his head cooed as he fought back a smile. “You also could’ve texted.” Len gave a pointed nod toward Barry’s phone. “Ah. Right. Never mind.”

“Besides,” Len said, taking a step closer as he cupped Barry’s cheeks, clearly relishing in the hitch in the latter’s breath, “I wouldn’t get to do _this_ if I texted you instead.”

Barry rolled his eyes but he let Len pull him gently into a kiss, unable to keep himself from smiling as he wound his fingers through the belt loops of Len’s jeans. The simple press lingered despite the original chasteness of the kiss, warm and inviting. It’d been a long day at work, after all. Barry hadn’t realized how much he needed _this_ \- just Len, keeping him company, sneaking around for a few stolen kisses in the precinct - until now.

He pulled Len closer, earning him a low hum of approval, and gasped as Len sucked on his lower lip for a second, quickly turning dirty. Of course Len never did anything by halves.

It took everything in him not to whine when Len pulled away. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

If not for the heat behind his gaze and the quiet panting, Barry almost would’ve believed the other was unaffected by the kiss. Len gave him another peck on the lips (Barry restrained himself from flashing forward to deepen the kiss as he stepped back) and drew the sunglasses over his eyes. “Fifty-nine minutes and twenty seconds,” he called as he turned to leave.

“Very funny.” Barry watched Len go before eyeing his remaining reports. Filling out reports wasn’t any more fun via super speed, but with the way his handwriting and current attention span were heading…

He’d worry about whether Singh could read his chicken scratch tomorrow morning.


	14. Zamaya, "I Really Wish You Wouldn't Do That"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Zamaya based on this dialogue prompt: "I really wish you wouldn't do that.""

****Zari couldn’t help but jump when Amaya’s hand brushed her bare shoulder, nearly knocking her doughnuts off the table as she turned to face her girlfriend. Despite Amaya’s best poker face, which was kind of adorable, not that Zari would ever admit it, she was already starting to laugh.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Zari scolded. She watched Amaya round the table, pressing a hand to her mouth as she took the seat beside her. “Really! I could’ve choked! Or dropped my doughnut!”

“Your priorities never cease to amaze me,” Amaya teased.

“It’s chocolate!”

Amaya laughed, unable to suppress the sound this time. “Alright, I believe you. I’m sorry I startled you.”

She really didn’t have to the right to say that so fondly, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mixed drowsiness and amusement, especially not with a ridiculous bedhead while she was wearing one of Zari’s flannels as a sleep shirt. _And only that_ , she realized with a jolt.

Zari’s mouth went dry very suddenly.

If Amaya noticed her lapse in attention, she said nothing of it, rubbing one eye with the palm of her hand as she fought a yawn. “You weren’t there when I woke up.”

“Hmm? Oh, uh, sorry. I just - ” Zari gestured vaguely toward the half-forgotten doughnut plate, her eyes glued to the hem of the flannel. Did she not realize what she was doing to her? Had she grabbed Zari’s clothes by mistake in a rush to find her?

The thought of Amaya sleepily rolling out of bed and picking up the nearest shirt, not caring about whose it was, maybe smiling to herself at the faint scent of Zari’s shampoo that clung to it -

_Fuck._  
  
“I thought you had a nightmare. I should’ve guessed you’d be eating, though.” Amaya shook her head, that soft smile tugging at Zari’s dwindling attention.

“Just got hungry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” Zari managed to tear her gaze away from the flannel for a second to meet Amaya’s eyes. “You didn’t have to come look for me, you know.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Zari shrugged. “No big deal, that’s all.”

Amaya’s lips curled into a more knowing smile, dark eyes glimmering. Sometimes Zari wondered how anyone like Amaya could be real; people in 2042 didn’t connect with animals or stifle their laughter behind their palms with a genuine fucking _twinkle_ in their eyes or look drop-dead gorgeous in any time period while kicking ass. Zari had thought it was a totem thing at first, or maybe had something to do with the so-called Legends, but no. It was just an _Amaya goddamn Jiwe_ thing, apparently.

Not that she was complaining.

After all, there was no one out there like Amaya, and certainly not anyone who’d be more than eager to kiss her late at night after missions, tangled in their bed sheets alone.

Amaya leaned forward, her clavicles jutting out as the flannel’s collar slipped, which really wasn’t helping Zari’s barely-there focus. “Maybe I just wanted you to come back to bed,” she whispered.

Zari blinked, her tongue going unresponsive in her mouth. “Uh…hmm. Huh.”

Amaya shook her head again, pushing back from the table with a sly look and turning to walk out of the kitchen. Zari’s eyes dropped to her legs - honestly, how was this even fair? - and she swallowed hard.

The flannel _definitely_ didn’t do a swell job of covering her girlfriend’s ass, leaving nothing to the imagination.

She only spared one quick, mournful glance at the plate of half-eaten doughnuts before rushing to hide them in the back of the fridge (like hell was she letting Mick or Sara steal them for breakfast) and practically sprinting after Amaya.

Neither of them were getting any sleep for another hour at least.


	15. Coldflash, Barry In Len's Parka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash, Barry wrapped up in Leonard's parka. :)"

“Pancakes again?”

Len’s lips twitched. He didn’t need to turn around to hear the drowsiness in Barry’s voice, the soft yawn that followed his words. “Good morning to you too.”

“G’morning.” Another yawn. “Why so many?”

“Well, someone worked up _quite_ an appetite last night. Figured it’d be best for all of our sakes to satisfy the beast.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Glad you think so, Scarlet.” Len flipped the last two pancakes and glanced up, his smirk vanishing because -

 _Oh_.

He was not prepared for the sight of Barry Allen wearing a certain navy parka zippered halfway up his chest, his arms tucked around him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. With his hair still mussed and his expression bleary as he shuffled his way toward the counter, pulling himself onto the stool, Len couldn’t quite help the way he stared.

They’ve worn each other’s clothes before. Logically, Len knew it shouldn’t be possible to be that attracted to someone wearing sweaters slightly too small or parkas that brushed the tops of their thighs. Their _bare thighs_ , which barely hid the peek of black boxers - which could have been either his or Len’s, who knew - underneath the fabric.

Logically.

It was going to take a minute before his brain rebooted.

“They better be chocolate chip,” Barry was saying, oblivious to Len’s staring as he folded his arms on top of the counter. The parka shifted with his movement, exposing more of his chest. Len bit back a noise that might’ve turned into a groan had he let it be. Barry didn’t seem to realize what he looked like, all wrapped up in his signature parka like a Christmas present that’d arrived nice and early. “With extra syrup, actually. Did you buy more yesterday or did I?”

Len set down the spatula carefully on the counter and took a moment to swallow hard. “I did.”

A dopey smile crossed Barry’s face as he finally made eye contact with Len. The sight normally made his stomach flip and other things he would rather die than admit to anyone, _especially_ not Mick or Lisa who would hold it over his head without shame, but he was far more focused on the glimpse of those collarbones, the once-bruised skin of his neck that had already healed after last night.

“Mmm, s‘good. So, are the pancakes almost ready or - ?”

Len stepped forward and pulled Barry in by the collar of his parka, kissing the chuckle off his lips. It was a little awkward, with the fur of the hood tickling his hands and the louder laugh, less sleepy this time, that left Barry when Len nearly pulled him off the stool. Barry seemed to wake up a little more in the process; by the time Len moved to break the kiss, Barry had a leg circling the back of his thighs, a silent plea to move closer, cupping Len’s face with both hands.

There was something gentle, sweeter about this kiss, despite the fire in Len’s belly. Maybe it was just Barry - Barry who didn’t usually take things slow, who was warm and full of energy and desperate, who was typically the one whimpering and begging Len for more.

He’d learned the Flash inside-and-out, studied and analyzed his weakness, his predictability when it came to their battles, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the man under the suit, the one tracing his thumbs over the curve of Len’s jaw like he was something precious.

“What was that about?” Barry asked as he finally pulled away, his lips as red and kiss-bruised as his moniker as he smiled.

Len gave the collar another tug, lighter and more playful than his first, as if it were enough explanation. It took a couple seconds before the recognition flared in Barry’s eyes.

Barry snorted, leaning his forehead against Len’s. “You turned down the thermostat again,” he said, half an accusation and a tease. “I was cold.”

“Was too hot before.”

“Seventy-five is _not_ too hot, you baby.”

Len swatted his shoulder and Barry drew back with a yelp. He almost regretted it when Barry slunk out of his grip on the parka, but the resulting pout was too painstakingly adorable for him to care.

“You’re insufferable.”

“No pancakes, then?” Len raised an eyebrow at the petulant look the question earned him. He didn’t bother hiding his amusement as he picked up the spatula again, rescuing the pancakes from the griddle before he burned them (as much as he loved teasing Barry, burnt pancakes were an intolerable offense). “Well, more for me, I suppose.”

A telling flicker of yellow lightning filled his vision and he had to blink a few times to clear the afterimage before he could see the empty plate in front of him. He glared at the now heaping stack of chocolate chip pancakes on Barry’s plate. _Little shit,_ he thought fondly.

“Turn up the thermostat so I don’t freeze and then you’ll get some,” Barry ordered, already taking an over-sized bite of his breakfast, which was drenched in what looked like the entire bottle of maple syrup.

“Hmm, tempting. But I dunno…” Len tilted his head and scanned Barry from head to toe, ignoring the curious furrow of the other’s brow. “Kind of like you like this.”

The rosy tint to Barry’s cheeks was endearing, but the quick flick of his own gaze down to Len’s lips, dark heat pooling in his eyes… Well, that was truly one of a kind.

For a moment it looked like Barry was going to give in but then he shook his head and swallowed his bite of the pancake. He held up a finger between them and waggled it like he meant business. “Thermostat first. Other things later.”

“Bossy.” Barry rolled his eyes but he endured the pat to his backside with a smug look as Len passed him to turn up the heat. 

He probably should’ve been more concerned at how easily Barry turned the tables on him, the sheer domesticity of it all, and once upon a time he would’ve been appalled by the situation, by the vulnerability.

Personally, though, he was looking forward to _later._


	16. Zari, Introspection on the Legends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Zari introspection (maybe a missing scene or just about the Waverider/Legends themselves?)"

There were three simple facts that she came to realize right off the bat about the Legends, two before she even set foot on the Waverider.

One: they certainly weren’t from 2042. 

Two: they were all a bunch of idiots pretending to be heroes.

And three: none of them liked talking about their feelings.

Which was fine by Zari, honestly, but it was a little ridiculous all in all.

She spent the first few days on the Waverider in the kitchen or in her designated room working on hacking this ‘Gideon’ (who promptly informed Sara, the _snitch_ , and earned her a stern “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” lecture about not hacking the time ship, which _she_ promptly ignored). She didn’t talk much unless spoken to directly by someone (usually Ray or Amaya, who really tried too hard with making her feel welcome sometimes), just ate her meals in silence and watched them chatter on.

Zari didn’t know their backgrounds well, aside from the whole time traveler deal, but it was clear that there were unspoken issues among the team - maybe not with each other, but with themselves at least.

Ray tended to chuckle when Mick stole another strip of bacon from Nate’s plate, trying to hide his amusement when the surly man eyed him suspiciously, always turning to Zari to comment on everything they were saying, as if she needed a seminar as an explanation. He didn’t seem to realize he was doing it, not at first, and it grated on her nerves until she snapped.

Zari knew she didn’t imagine the flicker of something hard behind his gaze, the suddenly false smile he aimed her way. She remembered the look on little Ray’s face eerily well and she hated the twist in her gut at the memory.

It was the same one her mother had worn when she heard bad news and wanted to deliver them to her children gently. 

The smiles never hid her own pain, though. Zari always noticed, even as a kid.

If she let Ray ramble on the next few times, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. It didn’t.

Mick was a textbook case of bottling his feelings. He didn’t say much, like Zari, but he appeared just as content with staying quiet and listening to the others while he ate as she was, perhaps more. She caught the occasional scowl when someone (more often than not being Ray) pushed too far but there were just as many twitches to the corners of his mouth when no one was looking, something she almost wanted to call _happy_.

Nate was like Ray, choosing to stay optimistic, rarely breaking his composure unless shoved off-balance. He and Ray were impossible to bring down when they put their heads together and babbled at the table, powering through mouthfuls of food while Jax shook his head in exasperation.

Sometimes she saw him glance at Amaya with this unnervingly sad stare, though. He never noticed her returning it, looking away before she could notice.

Zari wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was going on there. Aside from the clear sexual tension or whatever.

Jax and Stein didn’t send each other longing looks, thank goodness, but they weren’t much better when it came to talking about anything. Most of the time they argued, loudly and without care for anyone else’s oncoming migraines in the room, whether it was over a mission gone wrong or not listening to someone or who should eat the last pancake (which Zari quickly solved by snatching it up after five minutes of their debate). She wondered how the hell these two were supposed to be the complement to their other half when they couldn’t get along unless it was a life-or-death situation.

They always apologized, though. Sure, it took a few tries - and sometimes days - but they still sat close together at the table and rolled their eyes in unison (seriously creepy, by the way) at Ray’s bad jokes as if nothing had happened.

(And if they reminded her a little of her father and Behrad she blinked away the sting in her eyes as if nothing happened too.)

Sara… Sara’s case was perhaps the most obvious.

The very first thing she noticed about Sara was the dark look in her eyes, the set jaw, the tense posture, ready to fight if the need arose. She hadn’t realized that that was how she usually appeared, even when they were hanging out in the kitchen, laughing at the impromptu food fight that always seemed to start thanks to a certain arsonist. Sara was never relaxed, not really; she only pretended to be.

Again, she didn’t know Sara’s life, didn’t know what demons lurked just behind her gaze when she threw her punches harder than necessary on a mission or training with Zari (which, hurt like a bitch, _ow_ ). She had a feeling she never would understand, even if she stayed on this stupid time ship for more than a couple weeks at most.

None of them spoke a word about it. They never brought it up in front of the team, at least, but Zari was sure they never spoke about it period.

She wasn’t going to say anything either, obviously. It wasn’t her business. _They_ were the ones with terrible coping mechanisms.

So when she snuck into the kitchen late at night after accidentally falling asleep, after the night terrors left her sweating and hoarse from muffled cries, and one or two of them were already waiting for her without a word at the table…

Well, they weren’t going to talk about it. That’s all.


	17. Coldflash, Dragon Au 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash, Dragon!Len, Bonding, and Barry being added to Len's hoard? (Bonus for vikings era maybe)"
> 
> Might make a sequel to this one in the future, so if this moves or becomes something bigger, you heard it here first.

“No. Absolutely not,” Barry insisted.

He could’ve sworn he saw Len frown, his tail flicking unconsciously from where it was wrapped around Barry (they’d had a talk about squeezing too tight after Len’s scales had left _imprints_ on Barry’s legs so thankfully they weren’t numb yet). It was hard to tell when the dragon was facing away from him, snout half-hidden by the shadows of the cave as he stretched his neck. Len was roughly the size of a fully-grown elephant and flaunted it whenever he had the chance.

In other words, whenever he disapproved of anything Barry said. Which was all the time.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Barry rolled his eyes. “This is the fourth time this week, Len. You really think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

Len’s head tilted to the side. The glint of his ice blue eyes peering out of the shadows, narrowed to slits and watching Barry like a hawk even while feigning nonchalance, would’ve been more intimidating if Barry hadn’t been visiting his cave for five months already.

Besides, he’d seen Len playing with Lisa and there was no mistaking the damning _purr_ when he caught the dragon sleeping once. It had taken all his willpower not to take a video of both instances; Len was a notoriously light sleeper and like hell was he going to suffer the dragon’s wrath, visit or no visit.

He wasn’t entirely sure why Len had first allowed him into his cave in the first place. When he’d stumbled across Lisa injured in the woods, he’d been more than happy to help ( _thrilled_ , if he was honest with himself, because he _knew_ there were dragons in the woods, take _that_ , Joe!) treat her wounds, even when it meant working under Len’s inscrutable gaze. The ice dragon had refused to leave her be the first night, prowling and pacing outside the house and scaring the shit out of Joe when he came home. It was only after Lisa had woken and took the time to thank him – though Barry was pretty sure she’d stolen a couple of Iris’ favorite bracelets but that was neither here nor there – that Len finally came around to issue begrudging thanks of his own.

That _might_ have been when this little problem had started, now that he thought about it.

Technically, it had started with visiting the house to update Barry (again, begrudgingly) about Lisa’s condition, then answering Barry’s endless questions about dragonkind, then following Barry to work (which earned him “shadow” and “lost puppy” comments from Iris for nearly two weeks, much to both his and Joe’s annoyance) and _then_ escalated to Barry telling Len off because “really, I don’t know what more you want from me – I’m not following _you_ to your cave!”

Which…led to the situation at hand.

And, well, what was he supposed to do? Decline a dragon’s (rather amused, if the look on his snout had been anything to go by) invitation to see his hoard? Everyone and their mothers knew better than to do such a thing.

Dragons were ridiculously proud creatures, more so than werewolves and gorgons and even unicorns on a bad day. The one thing they treasured, almost more than their clans, was _treasure_. Gold, jewels, riches of any kind, really anything that shimmered or shined they wound up stealing or storing away for their own, vain enjoyment. They were the worst kind of hoarders, honestly. Barry’d even heard that some had taken up stealing more modern artifacts like CDs and DVDs and plasma TVs these days.

It was next to impossible to get close to a dragon’s hoard. Part of the reason why people tended to run for the hills at the first sign of a dragon had to do with the whole possessiveness, fire and burning flesh ordeal. A dragon would sooner eat its own paw than allow a human to trespass in its cave, much less _invite them in._

So, it wasn’t like Barry could’ve said no. Not that he wanted to, but offending a dragon wasn’t high on his bucket list.

He’d figured it was a one-time thing: Len was being a smart-ass, perhaps, or maybe he’d rambled on about the properties of draconic scales and the differences between a hydra and a dragon too many times and Len wanted to shut him up. It wasn’t like he wasn’t impressed by the sheer size of the cave, or the amount of gold and diamonds piled high among Len’s hoard. The knowing gleam in the dragon’s eyes clearly indicated he was satisfied by Barry’s spluttering and amazement, and Barry had shrugged aside the weird feeling in his gut, the prodding at the back of his mind that he was missing something.

But then Len had taken him there again. And again. And now _again_ , for a fourth time and…

Well.

Leonard Snart wasn’t exactly known for being _subtle_.

“And what is it you think I’m doing, kid?” Len drawled. His voice resonated in the cave, though it seemed like he was trying to go for a more patient tone.

Barry grimaced. “Look, Len, I appreciate the tour of the cave. Again. Really, I do.” Len’s eyes narrowed and Barry fought the urge to back away. “But I’m not interested in becoming part of…this.” He waved a hand in the vague direction of the nearest heap of sapphires and gold.

“This.”

“You know – ” Jeez, was he really not getting this? “ – the whole ‘becoming part of your little collection’ thing. Not that it’s _little_!” Barry held up both hands now; dragons were touchy about hoard sizes. He’d learned that the hard way when he’d asked the first time why there was so few gold bars compared to diamonds in his cave. “Just saying. I’d rather, uh, not be…kept, I guess.”

(He _really_ should’ve figured it out before Iris had been the one to point out the situation last night to him. After all, it was _classic_ dragon behavior, though why Len found Barry interesting enough to keep was beyond him. Last time he checked, he was nowhere near as shiny as the diamond-inlaid tapestries Len hung on his cave walls.

Yes, seriously. Class A hoarder right here.)

A few moments passed of Len staring at Barry, just staring with little care for the way the latter was starting to squirm under his gaze. He wasn’t frightened of the dragon as he’d once been, but it was unnerving to simply stand and be stared at.

He hoped Len wasn’t going to do anything drastic. It’d really, _really_ suck if he lit the Wests’ house on fire. _Again_.

Len lowered his snout slow and steady, coming to a stop at eye level five feet from Barry. He didn’t quite like the way Len was eyeing him, as if _he_ were the child ready to throw a temper tantrum. Barry experienced a brief surge of panic; this would be a shitty way to piss off a dragon, and an even shittier way to go missing.

At least the Wests would come looking for him. Joe had been dying to give the ice dragon a “piece of his mind” for months – and now he’d finally get his wish.

“You,” Len said flatly, though Barry detected a hint of something close to awe in his tone, “are the most oblivious human I’ve ever met.”

Barry blinked. It took a second before the words sank in. “ _Hey_ , now – ”

“Do you know _anything_ about dragon hoards, Barry?”

“Uh, of course.” Len just looked back at him blankly. Barry sighed and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “They’re your treasures, your gifts and stolen goods, right? It’s no secret you guys love shiny things. And, I mean, it’s rare but there _are_ cases of humans being brought back to those caves. To join your hoards.”

Len shut his eyes. Barry had the sense he’d said something stupid.

“You’re an idiot.”

Yeah, there it was.

“Did West tell you that myth? Or are all humans this moronic?”

Barry’s cheeks burned. “Look – ”

“If I wanted to add you to my hoard, kid, I would’ve done it months ago. Better yet, I would’ve eaten you and saved myself the headache of doing so.” Len huffed and fixed him with a piercing glare. “As tempting as that is right now, that’s _not_ what I’m going to do. You’re too skinny anyway.”

“Well, now you’re just being mean,” Barry muttered under his breath.

“I suppose it’s not your fault, though, if your kind isn’t educated properly. It’s not as if bonding’s that common nowadays.”

Barry couldn’t help but shrug. He supposed Len had a point. After all, it wasn’t like he knew –

Wait.

_What?_

Len snorted a frosty laugh at Barry’s expression, the air growing chillier around them with his amusement. Barry gave an involuntary shiver but it was hard to think straight past the complete and utter confusion he felt because _what the fuck?_

He couldn’t mean –

“Oh, kid. I think we’re going to have a lot of fun.” It may have been a trick of the light but Len’s blue eyes seemed to glow as his snout edged closer, brushing the front of Barry and drawing a gasp out of him. “Now, how about we try this again, hmm?”


	18. Coldwestallen, Soulmates Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash or Coldwestallen Soulmate au?"

The first meeting was nothing special. If you could call an armored car robbery special, that is.

Neither was the next, nor the first real conversation on and after the train was derailed, nor the fights in the street against his supervillain partner - which, really? Were they pouty children now?

It wasn’t even the moment in the woods or the deal at _Saints and Sinners_ that gave him a sign. Certainly not the incident at Ferris Air either. That slight still hurt.

It wasn’t the heist, the insistence from Lisa that they needed to help, that they owed the Rogues for what they’d done, or the raw look on Snart’s face after the cold gun was fired through his father’s chest.

No, none of them were special. Not when it came to a real _meeting_. It took a full year or so before Barry shoved Snart against the fireplace, lightning sparking off his skin as the thought of protecting Iris, the simmering fury because how _dare_ Snart break in and threaten them, and everything just -

Red, blue, and purple crackling through his veins, the sensation of his stomach being left far behind as he flew across the earth, the screams of his mother and sister - _no, I have no sister -_ echoing in his ears like gongs, the weight of a gun in his hands as he fired at the approaching criminal - _what even_ -

Searing, burning light behind Barry’s eyelids as he shut them against a cacophony of the storm in his mind, the flickers of fright and bewilderment and anger within the whirlwinds surrounding him and -

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iris whispered somewhere behind him in the living room. Barry didn’t realize he’d pulled away from Snart, hands shaking, until she tentatively touched his shoulder, a silent question on her lips.

The storm of emotion and color still swam before his eyes. Iris looked just as unsteady as him on her feet, perhaps more. He didn’t dare look at the thief across the room; he sucked in a shaky breath, his insides churning as the urge to _touch, feel, embrace_ them both nearly swept his feet off the ground like the rising tide.

Barry had never heard of anything like this. He doubted Caitlin or Cisco would’ve been able to describe the images dancing just beyond his reach, memories that were _not_ his own that he could’ve sworn he knew.

The only explanation was -

“Well.” Snart’s voice was hoarse, blistered by the heat of the lightning and the weight pressing upon all their shoulders. It should’ve been a consolation to hear the normally cool thief shaken by the experience but all Barry felt was numb shock. “That is…certainly one way to kickstart a soul bond, Scarlet.”

Iris squeezed his shoulder and promptly winced when they both gasped at the burst of _confusion, relief, panic, uncertainty_ as it nearly knocked them off their feet. “Barry? You okay?”

Fucking _soulmates_.

Joe was going to have an aneurysm when he heard about this.


	19. Coldflash, Fake Dating Exes Au 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "can I request Coldflash continuing the fake dating exes au you wrote a snippet for a while back? I'd love to know where that one goes."

If there was one thing Leonard Snart excelled at - thieving, general assholery and dickishness aside - it was facing a challenge head-on. Barry had used to admire him for it, back before they’d even been together. He’d gone up against many metahumans and criminals alike and not one had challenged Barry as brazenly as the infamous Captain Cold. Even Thawne-pretending-to-be-Wells had admitted Snart was a feasible opponent, the first who really burrowed under his skin and unearthed his weaknesses in front of the team - via kidnapping, of course.

Barry hadn’t minded it much while they were dating, not unless Len - _Snart_ was acting particularly bull-headed that day or they got into a serious argument. It had bothered him when they were in costume on opposing sides, yes, but never when it was just the two of them trying to make conversation (he’d also thought Snart gave a damn about him too, but that was neither here nor there).

Barry shouldn’t have been surprised that Snart was true to his word; wherever the Rogues had been hiding, Barry could clearly spot all of them now in the crowded room, though it took some shifting to find a couple hiding by the dance floor (and _god_ , he never wanted to see Hartley’s tongue down Axel’s throat ever again, _please_ ). Mardon, Nimbus and Baez were hanging by the refreshment table across the room, engrossed in deep conversation, alongside Mick who was having a great time finishing off the hors d’oeuvres by himself. 

Lisa was the hardest to spot, since she’d been occupying herself with flitting around various men at the gala. If he didn’t know Cisco and Lisa’s relationship well enough by now, he would’ve been concerned about anything going further (probably should have, given his own with her brother), but Lisa wasn’t that good of an actress to pull off the kind of love she looked at her husband with, even when they teased each other. Barry wasn’t sure how they’d stayed together at first, with Lisa’s occupation and Cisco’s vigilantism, but it turned out Lisa was more willing to bend when Cisco showed distress than Len had been for Barry.

He could’ve sworn he spotted a shimmer of gold in her hand at one point, but he knew better than to try and call her out, especially in public. She would’ve only turned the tables on him, drawn too much attention or gotten him kicked out.

Besides, they hadn’t spoken in months. She rarely visited the Labs when Barry was there anymore, and the strained smile on Cisco’s face every time was getting downright painful to watch. 

He wasn’t sure why she was mad at _him_ \- after all, it was Len’s - _Snart’s_ fault in the end, not his.

Speaking of Snart…

“You’re not doing a very good job at keeping an eye on me, Barry.” He clucked his tongue before taking a sip of champagne, as if he was truly disappointed by the way Barry looked over his shoulder to keep all seven Rogues - minus Snart - a couple glances away. “Surely the fastest man alive ought to be taking this more seriously. What if we were in some sort of danger?”

He was also excelling at testing Barry’s patience.

“Well, I wasn’t the one who decided to plan a heist at this gala,” Barry hissed, “so excuse me for worrying.”

“Never said anything about worrying. All I - ”

“Yeah, I _know_ what you said,” Barry snapped. Satisfied once he relocated Lisa’s position, which was a little too close to where Hartley and Axel were still going to town on the fringes of the dance floor, he faced Snart’s smug stare. “You could at least _pretend_ to pay attention to where your Rogues are.”

“I’m not babysitting them tonight,” Snart said, far too cheerfully for his liking, as he idled closer and brushed Barry’s side. “If I remember correctly, that was what you declared you were signing up for, though, no?”

Barry’s eye twitched. He was tempted to find Iris and let her punch Snart after all.

Maybe Eddie would join in. He’d been righteously sympathetic after Iris had broken the news to him too.

Snart lowered his glass and sighed. The press of his suit against Barry’s side seemed to burn through the fabric. “Relax, Scarlet,” he murmured. He almost sounded sincere for the first time that night. “Here I thought you knew me so well. You really think I’d let them run loose at a gala without some idea of where they are?”

He…had a point. He certainly wouldn’t have let Mick or Lisa out of his sight, especially not on a job.

“Still,” Barry grumbled. He tried not to look put out, but with his arms folded over his chest next to Snart’s calm composure he had a feeling he wasn’t succeeding. “You could at least help.”

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Excuse me?” They both turned at the interruption, the woman - a drink server, judging by her uniform and thin, polite smile - holding her empty tray by her side and looking between them with trepidation in her eyes. “Would you like me to refill your drink, sir?”

It was weird to watch Snart’s face relax into a smile just as achingly polite as hers. There was no way it was genuine. “Of course.” He handed her his nearly-empty glass.

“And none for you?” It took a pregnant pause for Barry to realize she was talking to _him_ now.

“Uh, no thank you.”

“Not fond of drinking,” Snart commented with no small amount of mirth written across his face. Barry surreptitiously stepped on the man’s foot but the server was already frowning.

“Would you like something else to drink?”

“Oh, no, that’s not - ”

“If there’s anything i can get you or your partner, please let me know,” she said. Her tone suggested she was deadly serious.

Barry could feel his face turning redder by the minute. “We’re _not_ \- ”

“More champagne,” Snart, the asshole he was, flashed her an apologetic smile and put his hand on Barry’s arm, the touch making him jump, “would be wonderful.” The server nodded and hurried off immediately.

He wasted no time rounding on Snart. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“That was called being polite, Barry.”

“You just implied - ”

“Did _you_ want to correct her, dear?”

Barry ground his teeth together. “You still - ”

Snart held up a finger between them to cut him off, the amiable mask gone. “It wasn’t important. She’s one person. People make mistakes all the time. No time for chit-chat, right?”

He supposed Snart was right. It wasn’t as if they were really… Well.

The thought made him swallow hard.

It was only for one night.

“Gotta say, Snart,” came yet another voice, this time distinctly deeper and masculine, from behind Barry, the thief’s expression shuttering to a blank stare at once, “thought you were bluffing when you said you wouldn’t be coming alone. He new?”

Barry turned and his stomach dropped.

When Snart had joked about danger, he hadn’t thought he was _serious_. He hadn’t imagined danger coming in the form of a leering man with at least one - no, two, _shit,_ not-so-subtle men trailing a few feet away. Some sort of bodyguards. He’d have to be an idiot not to recognize the man, even if it had been a long time since he’d had a run-in with the Santinis. Ironically, it might’ve been soon after he and Snart had teamed up to rescue Lisa from them nearly a year ago.

Snart’s other hand, still resting on his arm, gave a warning squeeze, light and barely noticeable. _Don’t do anything._

“You don’t see me asking about your girls, Frank,” Snart said, his voice going sharp, full-on supervillain mode. 

The scan of Santini’s eyes down Barry’s form made his fists clench. “A Rogue and a new sidepiece, huh?”

“I do believe that’s none of your business. Whatever happened to eleven-thirty?”

Was he working _with_ the Santinis? For fuck’s sake.

Morals and history aside, Barry was going to _kill_ Snart. If he didn’t throttle Santini first.


	20. Coldflash, Post-Oculus Au 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash, more post-oculus Len (maybe before that one bit you posted before, when they first got Len back or found out he had powers?)"
> 
> This is technically a prequel to the original prompt.
> 
> Mentions of character death.

“Barry,” Iris said in that scarily calm manner that made his stomach twist out of nerves and whisper _uh oh_ , “why is Leonard Snart not dead and in our kitchen?”

Barry, whom had been avoiding this conversation altogether for the past couple hours (he wasn’t sure whether it was for better or for worse that it was Iris and not Joe who had come downstairs that morning first), managed to offer a sheepish grin. “Uh… Would you believe me if I said he just appeared there?”

Iris didn’t look impressed. Well, it was worth a shot. “You said Ray told you he died. In some sort of time machine.”

“Technically, some sort of massive temporal computer that could manipulate time, but yeah.”

“Then _how_ is he here?”

Barry shifted his weight and averted his gaze. He still remembered the dream all too well, the sparks of green and blue amidst a sea of shattered glass - no, _time, fragments of time itself_ \- and how he’d felt himself fading away, forgetting himself and yet remembering _everything and anything about the universe and_ -

Out of the blue, Snart’s voice. Glimpses of the thief - on the Waverider, holding down a lever inside the Wellspring, staring Barry down on the other side of the prison glass - throughout things that had happened and yet to happen. It reminded Barry eerily of the Speed Force, of the ghosts and familiar faces he’d seen there.

This, though, was different. It was as if he were actually _there_ , actually hearing Snart’s murmuring the back of his mind like a niggling sense of something he had yet to do.

It was the dead of night when Barry woke, and maybe it was the itch under his skin or the urgency in Snart’s fading voice that caused him to act on impulse but…

Well, he couldn’t leave Snart there. Not after everything they’d been through. Guilt ate away at his insides for at least another hour before Barry gave in. After all, if it was a dream and nothing more, he could just forget about this late night jog. Pretend it never happened, that he’d never tried anything of the sort.

A voice that sounded eerily close to Cisco’s immediately began berating him but he swatted it aside and embraced the Speed Force.

Barry had run and run until his skin blistered and his vision swam with memories of time and energy and things that he’d never experienced for himself until he could run no more and he was ready to give up and turn home when -

Scattered shards of pulsing blue reaching for him in the flares of lightning off his feet, forming familiar features and a gasp of breath as icy blue eyes gazed back at him, somehow simultaneously unsettling and recognizable.

Snart hadn’t woken until ten minutes ago, when Barry, after a brief nap on the kitchen table that he was sure the other man would’ve mocked him for (hey, time travel was exhausting, okay?) had he been awake, started making breakfast. Apparently the smell of scrambled eggs and coffee was enough to wake the once-dead criminal.

Snart had taken his resurrection a little better than the others were bound to, though, with a blank stare, a shake of his head and a chuckled “Of course you did, Scarlet” that did _not_ make his chest tighten.

“Barry?”

Right, Iris.

He heaved a sigh. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to trust me on this. I had this dream - ”

“Barry,” Iris folded her arms over her chest with a glare, “did you break time _again_?”

Okay, maybe this was going to be a little harder than he thought to explain.

“If you’re going to argue,” Snart drawled on the other side of the kitchen, not taking his eyes off his breakfast as they turned to stare at him, “could you at least do it elsewhere? Haven’t had a real meal in a long time.”

Iris’ gaze softened, but not by much. She clearly hadn’t forgotten their first encounter at Christmas. Which felt like ages ago, wow. “You seem awfully calm for someone who was brought back to life.”

“Wouldn’t quite call it resurrection, Iris.” She started at the familiarity, as did Barry, but Snart pressed on before either could interrupt, twirling his fork as he looked up. “Kid didn’t do much more than guide me back to a physical form. Not that I’m not thankful for the lift.”

“He was in pieces,” Barry explained to Iris quietly. “Like, scattered across the universe kind of pieces.”

“Took a lot longer than I anticipated to coalesce,” Snart said. He chewed on a bite of his eggs thoughtfully for a moment. He really did look a lot better now that he had some food in him, not nearly as pale or frail as he’d felt when Barry’d grabbed his hand to yank him out. “Time’s funny like that. Hard to tell how long I was waiting, or when I’d get another chance.”

Iris bit her lip, brow furrowing. “What do you mean by ‘physical form’? Weren’t those ‘pieces’, I guess, your body?”

Barry wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the sight of that smirk crossing Snart’s lips for the first time in years warmed his heart. Or maybe he was simply nostalgic.

He could’ve sworn he spotted a flare of that blinding blue behind Snart’s eyes, though, which suffocated that nostalgia real quick because that…wasn’t normal.

“Somewhat,” Snart said cryptically. “Mine, sure. But the Oculus has never had one before. Unless you count that damned machine I should’ve died in.”

Iris glanced at Barry in confusion but he could only flap his mouth like a fish. Because the Oculus wasn’t a living being, from what Ray had described. It didn’t have life; it was just a time-manipulating machine powered by a supernova of energy and -

Shit.

Alright, maybe this was a problem after all.


	21. Coldflash, Lisa the Artist Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash; Lisa is an artist and big bro Len goes to all her art shows/galleries when one day Barry's passing through looking for a gift for Iris and Eddie's wedding, and he buys not just the one painting but like three more as well, and Len can't help but be charmed by the guy who won't stop rambling about how amazing Lisa's art is."

Len turned the corner of the gallery and stopped cold in his tracks. Lisa had shooed him away half an hour ago, claiming his presence was scaring away potential buyers and small children (which was an exaggeration but she wasn’t necessarily _wrong_ ), and after roaming the building and looking over other artists’ works (clearly his sister’s art was better than those snooty rich kids a couple halls down but that was neither here nor there), he’d given up on pretending to be interested.

The last thing he expected to see was Lisa practically beaming near her most recent painting - by which he meant the painting she’d been scrambling to finish that very morning in their apartment - with a guy about her age, his wallet in hand and bouncing on his heels with a pearly grin.

“How much for this one?” Lisa tapped her finger to her chin but she wasn’t doing a good job of hiding the pleased gleam in her eyes. Len knew how excited she got over showing off, especially when it came to her artworks. They were her blood, sweat and tears poured into paint and hours of toil.

In other words, if someone so much as complimented her babies - her words, no Len’s - she was bound to stick to them like a leech.

“About $450. You sure that’s not too much for you, honey?”

The man’s laughter, bright and unrestrained, reached Len’s ears easily even before his feet began to move toward the pair. “Don’t worry about it, really. It’s the least I can do. You’re the one helping _me_ out as it is.” He pulled out his credit card with a shake of his head, still smiling. Len’s eyes did _not_ wander to those dimples or the freckles he could spy dotting their way down the man’s neck like constellations across one of Lisa’s canvases. “My best friend’s a huge art lover, she’s going to love it. You accept credit? Or do you want cash?”

“Credit’s just fine. I’m glad I could help,” Lisa purred, snatching the card with nimble fingers as she moved to swipe it. “Anyone that interested in my art deserves a nice gift. Or four, I suppose.”

Len would’ve rolled his eyes (and Lisa called _him_ arrogant, really) if not for the blooming splotches of color on the man’s cheeks distracting him. The red shade suited him well.

“Iris is going to love them all. Thank you so much.”

Did he say - ?

If the way he rubbed at the back of his neck with that embarrassed smile was anything to go by -

Len’s gaze dropped to the man’s feet. He couldn’t quite hide how his jaw fell.

“Lenny!” Lisa’s cheery tone bore a smug lilt to it that, for once, he didn’t call her out on. “This nice man - Barry, was it? - is a big fan of my paintings. Isn’t he lovely?”

“Oh, uh, it’s nothing, really,” Barry stammered. Len schooled his expression into something less openly surprised, but it was difficult with his mind racing at the sight of _not a singular package_ like he’d been expecting.

He had to be rich. Either that or some guy who loved throwing his money at art students when buying them for friends. Which…didn’t sound as plausible. Rich it was.

People bought paintings from his sister often. He knew that. Len had been to art show after art show, snuck into some of the art lectures she’d attended, even. He knew Lisa was talented better than anyone. He wasn’t shocked by the fact that she’d managed to sell anything tonight. Of course not.

Art was expensive, though. Hell, the first time Len had seen the cost for her art supplies, they’d had a fight that nearly caused Mick to come over to separate the two of them. He didn’t mind buying her supplies but _holy hell_ , some of these tools cost more than his textbooks had at that age. With all the hours and time Lisa put into paintings, and how often she scrapped them or redid them or pleaded her big brother into running to the store at three in the morning to buy her a specific pigment before her deadline in five hours, it was no surprise that they were worth more than your kindergartner’s latest finger-painting project.

Hence, they didn’t sell too many. He’d seen Lisa’s forced smiles after a crappy night, the steely glint in her eyes when folks walked on by without a second glance.

The most people ever bought individually was two.

“This is my brother, by the way. Usually he’s not so speechless.”

Barry chuckled but Len was far too busy staring at the _four_ paintings wrapped nicely at his feet to meet his eyes right now or to snark at Lisa’s teasing because _four_. “It’s alright. It’s nice to meet you, Lenny.”

“Len.” Barry looked at him questioningly as Len tore his eyes away from the paintings and gave the other a once-over that deepened his flush. He didn’t look wealthy in his maroon sweater and jeans, his hand frozen on the back of his neck as he watched Len. Then again, looks could be deceiving. “Call me Len, _Barry_.”

He purposefully ignored Lisa’s knowing smirk as he stepped closer. Red was certainly Barry’s color. It took a little effort not to dwell on that train of thought, particularly when it involved how far that blush was spreading down Barry’s neck.

“Your sister’s art is incredible. I’m not an art major myself - my uncle’s the only reason I came here in the first place, though I’m definitely glad I did because there was no way I was finding a gift for Iris’ wedding in time - but I’ve never seen anything like her paintings.” Barry picked one up, still wrapped in bubble-wrap and protected from fingerprints, and Len recognized it within seconds. 

This was one of Lisa’s favorites, the first painting she ever made that wasn’t a portrait or a half-hearted sketch on a canvas she muttered false promises about finishing later: a hillside at the brink of dusk, the golden sunset shimmering on the horizon as the clouds littered the sky with puffs of white. Len had taken her out to the countryside as a surprise vacation, their first after Lewis had died. She’d taken a picture at that very spot on the crest of the tallest hill, eyes lighting up as he teased her about not taking a break from school.

She’d never admit it, but she’d cried when she finally finished that painting.

“I mean, just look at the detail! All the flowers and the shading and - I don’t even know how she managed to blend the colors like this. The last time I tried to draw anything, much less paint anything, were stick figures in elementary school. It’s beautiful! Who _wouldn’t_ want to buy her art?”

_Oh._

Len’s eyes darted to the right. Lisa’s preening over the praise was blatant. Whether he knew it or not, the kid knew how to appeal to her vanity.

Something fluttered in his chest.

Barry lowered the canvas, looking sheepish. Clearly he’d mistaken the silence for something else. Distaste or boredom, maybe. “Ha, sorry. I just… I tend to ramble sometimes when I get excited. Your art’s really good, though, Lisa. Again, thank you so much for the paintings.”

“Thank _you_ ,” Lisa shot back with a bat of her lashes. “And tell _Iris_ that I hope she enjoys them.” 

A woman with red curls drew her attention away, and Barry nodded at Len before moving to scoop up the other paintings.

Len beat him to it, taking one in each hand before Barry could seize more than he could handle. The questioning stare, complete with wide eyes and a tilt of the man’s head, was more than worth it. 

“Wouldn’t be a good Samaritan if I didn’t help you to your car,” he said innocently. “Besides, I don’t think we had a proper conversation or introduction.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem annoyed - far from it, if the smile tugging at his mouth was any sign. “I guess you’re right.”


	22. Coldwestallen, Hansel and Gretel Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "coldwestallen with a fairytale/fantasy twist? (whether it's based on a fairytale like Beauty and the Beast or just set in a fantasy world is fine by me tbh)"

Once upon a time, there lived two children on the edge of the forest with their father. Both their mothers had passed soon after giving birth, so they were raised by their father’s hand. Their father was not a kind man, with a heart long hardened and blackened by distrust and bitterness, and he did not show affection toward his children, nor play with them when they asked. Luckily, the pair had each other, and while they were lonely, it was hard to remain lonely with someone to keep you company. 

Company meant little over time, however, for their father was poor and food was scarce. It was difficult to provide for himself, much less two children who were growing bigger and less content by the minute. He barely made enough money as it was, even if his hard-earned gold came from passing strangers’ pockets, and with winter soon approaching he would not be able to collect enough food to survive the season.

Never let it be said that the father wasn’t an intelligent man, though. It only took him a few nights of thought on the matter to piece together a plan.

He called his children into the kitchen one morning and explained that they would be accompanying him into the woods to search for firewood. They needed the wood for next winter, and only the sturdiest of branches would suffice. The children agreed with little complaint and followed him deep into the forest, occasionally stopping to help their father chop up some firewood to carry home.

Now, the boy named Leonard was not fooled by his father’s words. He had grown up less and less willing to obey his father, jaded by the solitude and his sister’s loneliness. He came up with a plan of his own secretly; while their father led them deeper into the forest, Len left behind a trail of breadcrumbs so they would remember the way home.

After hours of walking, their father told them to stay put by a small stream, declaring that he would be back soon with more wood for them to carry. The two waited no more than an hour before realizing they had a right to worry after all. Their father would not be returning.

Lisa, the sister, began to panic, but Len hushed her gently and explained his plan. It would be much simpler to return now that they had the trail of breadcrumbs!

Or, so it seemed. To their mutual horror, the trail came to an abrupt halt not ten feet beyond the clearing their father had abandoned them in, a line of crows already scooping up the remainder of their crumbs. They rushed forward to shoo the birds away, but it was no use. The damage had been done, and without a proper path they were well and truly lost.

The pair wandered for hours more, long enough that they realized it was nearly time for dinner and the sun would soon set. Both were starving, having not eaten since their meager breakfasts, and by the distant sound of rumbling thunder, a storm would be upon them within minutes. Len lamented that there was no shelter or food in sight.

Hearing these worries, a brilliant white bird came to rest on Len’s shoulder, startling them, and assured them not to fret. She had flown these woods many times and knew of a clearing not far from where they stood, though they would have to hurry if they wanted to reach its stoop before the storm came. There, they would find shelter and all the food they could ask for.

Delighted, and with no other choice, they followed the bird’s directions, moving quickly through the undergrowth until they happened upon the clearing. Both Lisa and Len promptly forgot their worries for a moment’s time, enthralled by the house before them that appeared to be made entirely of sweets, sugar, and gingerbread. Famished, Lisa rushed to the house, ignoring her brother’s warning, and began to nibble on the shutters. Len held back, suspicions raised in the back of his mind despite his hunger, and turned to the bird to question its motives when he realized it had disappeared.

Before Len could voice this out loud, the door to the candy house swung open with a great bang and the pair hovered near each other as its owner stepped out. An old woman with sharp eyes and a toothy grin greeted them. She laughed at their cowering and explained that they were more than welcome to continue eating her house. It was not hers, she told them, but had belonged to an evil witch before she’d abandoned the house. She did mind them lingering out in the cold, though, especially with a great storm approaching.

“You must come inside,” she urged them. “I have a hot fire and warm clothes and a pair of beds just your size that you can sleep in. Just for tonight, of course.”

Seeing Lisa’s hopeful gaze and winds beginning to pick up as the storm drew ever nearer, Len relented with reluctance. It was only one night, he reasoned, so they ought to make the most of it before setting out tomorrow.

Little did they know that the old woman was not a simple commoner, but a terrible witch herself who lured passing strangers into her home - typically children who adored her candy house - for a hearty meal. Not many travelers passed through these woods anymore, so she saw the pair as an opportunity for yet another feast.

In the morning, the storm had passed and Len roused his sister bright and early, hoping to set out quickly to find their way home. The witch, however, was already awake and begged his assistance in plucking the weeds from her garden, since she was getting too old to bend on her own. Len gave in once more, and followed her out the door, only to be thrown into the cage the witch had been cleaning for her next meal - him.

He yelled and hurled himself against the bars, struggling to escape, but it was no use and the witch hurried back inside to force Lisa to get a fire going. Fear for his sister left him trying again and again to break the lock, but it refused to budge, old and rusting with the witch’s magic sealing him in.

“You won’t be able to escape,” came a sad voice to his right, causing Len to jolt and turn to find a lovely figure with vines and leaves poking through his hair staring back at him beside the nearest oak tree. Len had heard of forest spirits in myth, but had never seen one up close, and was struck by the bright freckles and gleaming green eyes. “The witch eats all the children who pass through here.”

“I have to,” Len pleaded, desperation surging. “My sister’s inside. Is there nothing you can do?”

“I am not powerful enough to destroy her. I am only a spirit. The witch who lived here prior might have been, but she has not been seen for a decade and I cannot travel far enough from my tree for long.” The spirit turned his head, looking melancholy beyond belief.

“Can you tell my sister where she might find her? If I cannot escape, perhaps she can.”

The spirit walked closer, the earth guiding his feet across the fallen leaves as if he were gliding on air. “Perhaps. The witch is nearly blind; she may not notice your sister if she is not gone for long. Will you be able to stall the witch on your own?”

Len nodded, and the spirit smiled, holding out his hand to Len through the bars. He took it and was startled by the warmth from the bark bleeding into his skin.

“Here, take one of my fingers.” Len’s eyes widened and the spirit laughed, a dulcet sound that reminded him of the wind rustling through the trees. “It will not hurt. I can grow them back.”

Len did as he said and true to his word, the digit regrew slowly like a branch. The finger, which wasn’t a finger at all, he realized as it changed shape in his hands, became a thin stick no longer than his pointer finger. 

“When the witch comes to ask you to stick out your finger, poke the stick through the bars of the cage. She will try and fatten you up before she eats you. If she thinks you are too skinny, she will wait to cook you.”

Sure enough, the witch returned with Lisa by the arm and forced the girl to grab kindling for the fire in the oven, knowing she wouldn’t dare escape with her brother stuck in the cage. When she ordered Len to hold out a hand for her to touch, he thrust the stick through the bars as the spirit had told him instead. Disgusted by his supposed boniness, the witch brought him candy and gingerbread in hopes of fattening him up. If not for tonight, then for the next night, she hoped.

After all, she had until winter arrived before it would be too cold to keep him outside in the cage.

Meanwhile, Lisa met the spirit not far from the house while gathering firewood, who explained what he had told her brother. She was scared to leave Len alone with the witch, but the kind spirit reassured her that he had a plan as well and would be just fine if they hurried. She agreed to let the spirit help her and abandoned her firewood, and Len, as the spirit guided her through the forest away from the cottage of sweets. 

He called himself Barry, and told Lisa that to find the good witch, they would need to locate her wand. It was buried for safe-keeping after she vanished, to hide it from evil spirits, but if they dug it up, its magic would draw the good witch back home - or lead them to her first.

“You know an awful lot about magic,” Lisa said as they walked through the trees.

Barry blushed a light green. “W - Well, I was friends with the witch before she vanished. We used to talk while she traveled through the woods or made potions out by the fire pit.”

Lisa wasn’t certain that was all, but Len’s life was in her hands so she let the subject drop. 

They walked for days, Barry’s human form flickering the further they were from the cottage, until they finally reached the top of a hill covered in stunning purple flowers, the sight of which seemed to sadden Barry. Lisa dug where he asked, however, and unearthed the slender wand, which pulsed the same shade of purple as the flowers surrounding them.

Eager to meet this witch, Lisa waited with Barry patiently, but no one came. There was no sign of the witch, and with their hearts heavy and Barry’s diminishing health, they set off toward the cottage. It seemed that Lisa would have to defeat the evil witch herself now.

Back at the cottage, said witch grew tired and impatient. Len had grown (to her knowledge) no fatter than the day before, and hadn’t since his sister had run off into the forest. With one potential meal gone and one eerily bony, she decided she had no choice but to cook Len as he was and set to starting the fire in her oven herself. By the time Lisa and Barry returned, she was preparing to cook Len and headed outside to haul his cage indoors.

Lisa, fear overcoming her at the thought of losing her brother, rushed over and tried to cast a spell, tried to use the wand against the witch. However, only the owner of the wand could wield its great power, and nothing happened. The witch, recognizing Lisa and the wand, grew greedy remembering the magic of the previous house’s owner, and attempted to grab both but Lisa darted out of reach. Lisa ran into the cottage as the witch chased her, Len momentarily forgotten in his cage, and a terrible idea struck her as she spied the roaring fire in the oven.

“Stop!” she cried, holding the wand in front of the open oven door and bringing the witch to a halt. “Don’t move or I’ll toss it inside!”

The witch merely cackled and took a step forward. Lisa edged closer to the heat of the flame but did not release her grip on the wand. “Foolish girl! Fire cannot destroy such magic. I think I’ll eat you before I cook your brother.”

Lisa stepped back again and this time the witch charged, ready to seize both the wand and the girl - or at least to push the latter into the flames herself - but Lisa sensed her intent and sidestepped the witch, shoving her from behind into the oven and bolting the door. The witch screamed as she burned but Lisa left her there, hurrying back outside as she screeched until she was no more than ashes left behind in the oven.

Len rejoiced at the sight of his sister alive and well, but Lisa reminded him that she could not undo the magic sealing the lock on his cage, not when they had no way of using the wand. He urged her to leave, but she would not abandon him a second time.

“You won’t have to.” The siblings and Barry turned as the white bird that had led them to the cottage of sweets in the first place fluttered down and landed on the forest spirit’s shoulder of bark. “Give me the wand, if you’d please.”

Bewildered, Lisa gave the wand to the bird who accepted it with its beak. To everyone’s amazement, the glow of purple surrounded the white bird, seeping into its feathers as the bird transformed before their eyes. Within moments, a woman with dark curls and a dress made of earth and a familiar bed of flowers appeared beside Barry.

“You!” Lisa gasped.

The woman shook her head with a smile and pointed her wand at the cage, which sprang open to free Len who embraced his sister. “I’ve been cursed for over a decade without my magic. I am sorry for guiding you to this horrible witch, but I hoped you would be able to free me and yourselves. You didn’t even need my help after all.”

“Would’ve been nice, though,” Len muttered, earning him a look from his sister, but the woman only smiled brighter, her eyes mischievous.

Barry, whom had been standing frozen in shock, leapt forward and kissed the witch deeply, as if he’d been waiting years to do just that, which…well, he _had_. Tears of joy collected in his eyes like morning dew. 

“Iris,” he breathed, “if I had known - ”

“You couldn’t have,” the witch, _Iris_ , told Barry. Her tone softened, one hand coming up to cup his cheek and catch his tears. “I couldn’t talk to you or linger near the house for long. You had the right idea, however: the wand’s magic called me back just in time.”

“I’m sorry - ”

“It’s not your fault,” Iris cut him off firmly again, pulling him into another kiss. “It’s over now. The witch is no more.”

Len cleared his throat. A touch of color rose in his cheeks as both magical beings looked his way. “Not to interrupt this touching scene, but we need to be getting home.”

Iris’ expression drooped like the flower she was named after. “If you mean getting home to your father, I’m afraid he won’t be there. He was robbed and killed by a band of thieves not two days past.”

The siblings looked at one another, saddened but not surprised. Their father hadn’t been a kind man, and with the little love he’d shown for his children, it was to be expected they found they cared little for his untimely end.

“Still,” Lisa insisted, “we cannot stay. Thank you for everything but winter will begin within days and we need to find shelter.”

It was Iris and Barry’s turns to exchange meaningful looks, this time with growing smiles.

“Well,” Barry glanced at Len with a gleam in his eyes, “you both could always stay with us. Like you said, winter will be arriving and we are well protected against the storms here.”

“You do not have to stay for much longer if you’d like, but we would hate to see you both alone after everything you’ve done,” Iris added, taking Barry’s hand in hers.

Lisa beamed, the idea of living in the cottage warming in her mind, but her brother looked wary.

“I think we’d need to have a talk about this house and our diet, then,” Len said slowly, eyeing said structure with distaste. There was only so much one could devour sweets before they grew sick of them, especially if they had been forced to eat them by a cannibalistic witch.

Iris threw her head back and laughed. “Not to worry. I think I can solve that problem.” With a flick of her wand, the house shimmered like a mirage before the illusion of endless sugar dissolved and a sprawling house made of vegetation and earth, complete with a beautiful garden of flowers and vegetables alike, took its place. “I hope you’re not disappointed by the lack of candy. The witch cast a spell to lure unsuspecting travelers near, and people do love candy.”

Far from it: Lisa and Len had never been so relieved to see sweets disappear. Lisa pouted up at her brother and he sighed.

“Just until winter ends,” he warned. Iris and Barry’s smiles split their faces, a sight that caused his chest to flutter involuntarily.

“Just until winter ends,” Iris promised.

Winter, however, came and passed and by the time the thought of leaving entered the siblings’ minds, they decided it would be best to stay. After all, they had little to want for, could leave whenever they liked to visit neighboring markets and villages, and never had to listen to their father again.

(And if a certain witch and forest spirit were better company, in Len’s opinion, at least, than most people beyond their new home, that was fine by him.)

And, so the stories say, they all lived happily ever after.


	23. Coldflash, Bad Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Barry is at a bar and Leonard catches someone slipping something in his drink".
> 
> Implied creepy behavior and date rape drugs.

“Thought you said you couldn’t get drunk, Scarlet.” Barry cast a glance to his left, his beer halfway to his lips. Somehow the surprise he should’ve felt at finding Captain Cold at his side was muted. He hadn’t even gone to _Saints and Sinners_ this time.

“I can’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t drink. What are you doing here?”

Snart raised an eyebrow. The seat beside Barry was still open - well, open right now, with his date off in the bathroom - but he had yet to take it. Maybe he knew Barry was waiting on someone already. That thought was a little worrying given he’d kidnapped two of Barry’s friends.

It was strange to see Snart without the parka in this bar. He almost looked like a normal citizen dressed in his leather jacket with black jeans. Not that Barry hadn’t seen him sans the parka before, of course, but something twisted in his gut at the sight. How he could look so comfortable and at ease in anything was beyond Barry.

“Same as you.” Snart waved at the bartender as he slid his drink across the counter - must’ve ordered before the conversation started - and took a sip without taking his eyes off of Barry. “No cats stuck up any trees tonight?”

Barry snorted before he could stifle the noise and shook his head. “That only happened _once_ , thank you very much.”

“How disappointing.”

“It’s really not that fun. Cats don’t take kindly to being dragged off tree branches by strangers.”

Snart’s mouth curled at the corners. “Who could’ve possibly guessed that?”

“Fuck off,” Barry said. Any heat in his tone was diminished by his own grin fighting its way onto his face. “But really, Snart. You just happened to choose this bar tonight?”

“Believe it or not, but I don’t spend all my time at one bar in my spare time.” His gaze fell to Barry’s drink, which he finally moved toward his mouth once more to take that sip he’d wanted, and a flicker of indecipherable emotion crossed his face faster than Barry could pin it down. “Also, wouldn’t drink that if I were you.”

It was Barry’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I already told you I can’t get drunk.”

“Doesn’t mean whatever your date ordered for you will pass through your metabolism the same way.”

“I _can_ handle my beer, you know.”

“Drugs included?”

Barry paused. “I…what?”

Snart did take the seat beside him now, leaning toward him with elbows on the counter. The bartender glanced at them both before moving along to help a young couple at the end of the bar. “Guy ordered your drink but the asshole didn’t leave without roofying it.”

Barry shut his eyes and lowered the glass.

He wished he could’ve felt surprised. Marcus hadn’t seemed like a bad guy, not at all, but… Well…

The way he’d been leering at Barry had been rather telling in itself.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, pushing the drink away. He could feel Snart watching him closely but he didn’t care. 

The worst part was, he’d actually been looking forward to the blind date. Caitlin had mentioned a guy she’d known from college coming into town after he’d brought up his disappointment with his love life lately, and the encouragement from both her and Cisco had been enough to boost his confidence at first. Even Iris and Eddie had passed by S.T.A.R. Labs to wish him luck before he left for the night.

“When’d you see it happen?” Barry asked quietly.

“When I walked in.” Snart at least sounded sympathetic, unlike his typical drawl. Snart may have been a criminal but he didn’t have any reason to lie. “Right before he came over to meet you, looked like.”

Fucking hell. “Thanks.” 

Barry signaled the bartender to come get the drink and warned him to dump it out - and to watch Marcus when he returned, while he was at it. He figured there was no point in hanging around for the aftermath. The bartender nodded and took the glass before moving to help the other patrons.

Barry couldn’t see if Marcus was leaving the bathroom yet but he assumed the bartender would be more than happy to explain what had happened to him. Served him right, in any case.

Snart watched him pull on his coat with his brow furrowed. Barry felt oddly discontent leaving the man behind. It wasn’t like he owed Snart anything, he’d simply given him a head’s up (even if Barry was 70% certain the drug wouldn’t have affected him badly - perks for speedster metabolism).

Still, the unease in his gut was enough to slow his progress in buttoning his coat and cause him to sigh. “Look, uh, just… Thanks for telling me. I mean, you didn’t have to, but - ”

Snart scoffed and the feeling vanished as he turned away, his fingers tapping idly on the rim of his drink. “Don’t make this out to be something it’s not. As much as I _adore_ listening to your lectures on heroism, I _hardly_ think this is the time for one.”

“I wasn’t…” Barry finished buttoning his coat and brought one hand to the nape of his neck to curl into the small hairs there. “That’s not what I meant.” The unimpressed stare Snart leveled his way nearly made him groan in frustration. “Seriously. I just…” His shoulders drooped. “Thank you.”

The thief studied his face for a few moments, that familiar inscrutable mask back in place. It may have been his imagination but Barry could’ve sworn something he could almost categorize as fond crept into the gleam of his icy gaze.

“Don’t mention it, Barry.”

Maybe it was the low tone or the way the night had been going thus far, but Barry didn’t bother hiding the smile he sent Snart before he turned to leave.


	24. Coldflash, Hostage Au 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Barry was just at the bank when suddenly Lisa has taken him hostage and he can’t get away without blowing his cover and Len is just laughing at his indecision which makes Barry laugh because they have no idea but there’s nothing he can do now and none of the Rogues know what’s so funny"

He really should’ve guessed something would’ve gone wrong. Thinking back on it, he ought to have known the moment he walked into the bank and heard the faint call to hold the door open. Barry had _known_ the voice sounded familiar somewhere in the back of his mind, but after a near-sleepless night of tossing and turning (if Cisco called him one more time about another metahuman going on a rampage downtown, he was going to pitch his phone into the ocean) he’d brushed aside any suspicions and kept his grip on the handle.

Which, of fucking course, was when he turned and found himself face-to-face with an eyelash-batting criminal toting a familiar gold gun.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Lisa Snart laughed and patted his cheek as she walked past him into the bank. “Oh, I like you. Don’t worry, cutie, it’ll be over soon.”

“What do you - ?” Barry dropped his hand from the handle and realized in his dazed preoccupation he’d also missed the telltale burst of fire from Heatwave’s weapon as he drew it from his coat, the low whine of Pied Piper’s gloves charging up somewhere to his left in one of the queue lines, and the puff of smoke wherein appeared two figures, one of which carried the cold gun with a wicked smirk. And those are just the ones he can currently see from his position by the door.

His stomach plummeted to the floor.

Barry should’ve listened to Caitlin and taken that nap she’d suggested this morning.

The worst part was, he couldn’t even Flash out of sight with Lisa (and most of the bank) unaware of his identity. Worse yet, Lisa aimed the gold gun at his chest, unabashedly delighted in the face of Barry’s dawning frustration.

“Nobody move!” Hartley shouted, firing a warning blast toward one of the teller’s glass windows. Barry winced as it shattered, sending the tellers around it cowering and half the bank skittering backwards like a herd of gazelles from a lion pride. Rory’s gun helped cease unwanted movement, but the panicked murmuring and cries definitely don’t die down. “Hands in the air, people!”

“You heard him, honey.” Lisa waved her gun at Barry, drawing his attention back to the first problem at hand. “Hands up. Though I’m sure you’d make a very nice gold statue.”

Barry sighed and lifted his arms so his hands barely met his chin. Lisa was probably more amused by his irritation than anything else at this point. The way she motioned for him to step further into the center of the bank with the other hostages – though he noted none of them were being singled out, which was unnaturally reassuring – cemented that theory.

Snart took one look at the situation, at Barry’s sheer exasperation and Lisa’s smug simper as she herded him into the fray, and the smirk slowly turned into a wide grin. It almost looked sincere, if not for the twitch of his lips. Barry shot him a warning glare as he approached but Snart, like his sister, wasn’t easily deterred.

“Well, well. What’s this?” he drawled. Barry kind of wanted to punch him in the teeth.

“This cutie held open the door for me.” Lisa prodded his back again with the barrel of the gun and he gritted his teeth to bite back a sarcastic reply, which only made Snart appear more entertained by the conversation. “Figured we’d need some insurance, and since he’s such a _gentleman_ – ”

Barry immediately realized where this was going and: “Oh, absolutely not!”

“ – I think we’ve got ourselves a volunteer. Nothing personal, obviously,” Lisa finished, directing the last bit toward Barry, who was now glaring at _her_ because _really?_ Of all the people in this bank?

The Rogues were starting to split, half rounding up the tellers to fill their sacks with cash and the rest corralling customers to hand over their wallets.

This was just sad, at this point. He was tempted to make a break for it, but neither Snart sibling looked ready to let him bolt – Snart’s expression could only be described as a child opening his biggest present on Christmas morning, to be exact – and he wasn’t about to unveil himself in a room mostly full of strangers.

“Hmm.” Snart tilted his head, the grin growing as he drew eye level with Barry. He raised his own gun and Barry could feel the crackling chill from the cold gun pressing against his sweater front, the cold seeping through the fabric already. Because of course he wanted to be sandwiched between _two_ Rogues. “Not bad, sis. Go help Boo with the others. I’ll get acquainted with our new _volunteer_.”

He couldn’t see Lisa’s face at this angle but he could hear the pout in her voice. “I saw him first, Lenny.”

“Boo and Piper are handling the hostages alone,” Snart said. If Barry didn’t know any better, it looked like Snart was holding back laughter. Nice to know _someone_ was enjoying his predicament. “This one’s not going anywhere.”

“Really not necessary,” Barry did _not_ grumble through clenched teeth.

Lisa huffed but her gun shifted away from Barry’s back, allowing him to breathe a little easier. “You know, I don’t steal _your_ cuties, jerk,” she called as she strode off to help the others.

“Trainwreck,” Snart retorted, not taking his eyes off Barry. “Raise ’em high, Red.”

Barry, whose hands had indeed been slipping further down the longer he contemplated sneaking out of sight, lifted his hands higher with a scowl. “Are you serious?” he hissed, low and heated for only the criminal in front of him to hear.

“ _Snow_ serious, Barry.”

Yeah, he was definitely going to punch Snart. If not for the hostage situation then for the puns. “You’re unbelievable. They could’ve heard you.”

“You’re the one who assisted my lovely sister with her entrance.”

“Not my fault,” Barry said. The chill was starting to itch through the fabric; he shifted his weight backward to avoid pushing the barrel aside himself. He doubted he’d get frostbite without Snart pulling the trigger, but the proximity certainly wasn’t helping him stay put. “Somehow I doubt involving me in your heists was part of our deal.”

Snart pulled back an inch or so as if he sensed Barry’s discomfort, flicking his gaze down Barry’s form. “Nothing in our deal said we _couldn’t_. Not as if you’re in any danger, after all. We both know you can _flash_ on out of here whenever you please.”

“ _Look_ , Snart – ”

“Unless you’re just going to chat with our getaway,” Lisa said cheerfully, a little louder than Barry would appreciate since it drew most of the Rogues and the terrified hostages to look their direction, “you could help out too, dear brother.”

Snart, surprisingly, didn’t look perturbed by Lisa’s tone. The asshole somehow seemed _more_ amused. He nodded to the gun aimed at Barry’s chest. “What do you call this?”

Hartley snorted, likely recognizing Barry just as his boss had. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too scared.”

“No one said he had to be afraid, Pipes,” Shawna told him, utterly unimpressed as she shoved the rest of her newly-stolen cash into her bag.

“Besides,” Lisa cut in, “standing around isn’t doing work. Unless you’re waiting for the Flash to show up any minute now.”

Right, because Central City’s hero was absolutely on his way here.

Not.

Snart burst out laughing. It was like a dam had been cleaved in two, for however long he’d been holding back chuckling. The sound was so unlike his measured, leisurely drawl that Barry stared at him for a couple moments processing it because _what._ He didn’t even know Snart _could_ laugh so openly; it made him sound like a different person.

Maybe it was the laugh itself or the fact that Barry was dead tired and ready to crash any minute now or his endless frustration with the situation, but he didn’t catch Snart’s response because Barry found himself snickering too. All it took was a curious glance from Snart, whose laughter started petering off, and he had to bite his lip to keep from doubling over.

“Something funny, kid?” Rory asked slowly, eyebrows raising. Barry knew he ought to stop but something about the burly man’s expression only weakened his restraint. Lisa gave him a weird look, squinting at him like he was a deformed puppy.

“I think we broke him,” someone, probably Hartley, mock-whispered.

Snart was grinning again but Barry couldn’t muster the will to tell him to can it. Part of him wanted Snart to join in laughing again – which was ridiculous, definitely the lack of sleep talking here – but the thief was better at keeping his cool than Barry and merely shook his head.

(Jeez, now _he_ was thinking in puns. Barry needed a long nap.)

God, he really was the _worst_ at keeping his identity a secret. Did Oliver have this much trouble with his villains?

“Round up the rest of it and let’s head out,” Snart ordered, looking far too satisfied with himself. He lowered the gun and zip-tied his wrists, not that Barry would’ve bothered struggling at this rate.

“This,” Barry said quietly, a laugh still tickling the back of his throat as Snart began to haul him out of the building, “is all your fault.”

Snart exhaled a deep breath, but with his mouth near Barry’s ear he heard the soft chuckle clear as day. He gave his arm a light squeeze. “Whatever you say, Scarlet.”


	25. Coldflash, Thief for Hire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Someone hires Leonard to take out the Flash but his sense of honor won’t let him do it so he and Barry end up working together to take this guy down."

“You know Joe will kill you if he sees you in that chair, right?” Barry closed the front door behind him with a shake of his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Unlike their last meeting, he appeared much more calm, less territorial and outraged by the unexpected presence in his living room. The bags around his eyes might’ve been an indication as to why, though. “He wasn’t exactly happy after Iris told him the first time.”

There was no cup of hot cocoa in hand this time, but that hadn’t stopped Len from making himself a pot of coffee while he’d waited for Barry to come home. He took a sip and smirked to himself at the way the other watched him drink warily. 

“Hello to you too, Barry. Fun day at work?”

“Had two cases of assault and homicide in one day and I had to chase both Tricksters through downtown Central,” Barry snarked back, the corners of his mouth twitching. “So no. I don’t suppose you’re here to bring any good news. Unless you had something to do with the Tricksters trying to bomb the city this afternoon.”

He looked so much like a disapproving mother Len was tempted to tease him further. Ready to get right to business, no matter the circumstances. Barry really made it too easy to rile him up.

Unfortunately, he had more pressing matters to discuss.

“Relax, Scarlet. If I wanted to level the city, I wouldn’t have left that job up to Jesse and Walker.” He lowered his mug and placed it on the side table. “Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of a man named Henry Hewitt?”

Barry’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I know him. Why? How do you know him?”

“We’re hardly _pals_ ,” Len said. He couldn’t help but grit his teeth against the last word, his hand curling around the cold gun in his lap reflexively. “I knew _of_ him. Mostly through rumor and word-of-mouth. We didn’t meet, however, until this afternoon.”

Barry walked away from the entry hall and into the living room, his brow furrowing more with every step. The splash of concern behind his stare was almost endearing. “Why was Henry Hewitt contacting you?”

“He had an idea…for a job.” Len held Barry’s eyes and watched his jaw clench. He’d had his suspicions about Hewitt from the start, particularly due to the venom in his tone when he’d brought up the Flash, but seeing Barry’s distaste for the metahuman brought little relief. “Something he said would benefit us both.”

Len didn’t make deals. Not with people he didn’t know, much less trust farther than he could throw them. The only exceptions to the rule came from Lisa or Mick, no one else – both were family or the closest thing to it and there was hardly a need for deals when he was often the one drilling the plan in down to the last second.

So when the Flash – when _Barry Allen_ – bartered for a deal in the woods…

Well, he should’ve said no. It was the smart choice, no matter the stipulations. It would have been far easier to unmask the hero and watch the press have a field day. He could break out of Iron Heights with little problem and they both knew it, speed or no speed.

But the fire behind those green eyes, bright yet standing resilient against his barbs, held his attention and Len let him speak, let him make speeches about his skillset and the good of the city. And if he had to make an exception, just this once to stay out of prison and keep playing the game (because that was the point of all this, wasn’t it, just a game with Central’s proclaimed savior of the city), then he supposed he could handle making one.

Just this once.

He told himself the same thing, that it was a temporary gig, a way to remind the Flash he was in control as much as him, when Barry visited _Saints and Sinners_ with lips pursed and shoulders taut.

And again, every time Barry found him – with his father, in the bar, arriving ready to infiltrate the diamond heist, staring down the barrel of the cold gun.

And against the fireplace of the Wests’ living room, staring back at Barry’s furious face with little abandon.

Exceptions, he now thought bitterly, were going to be the death of him.

Specifically, making exceptions for goddamn Barry Allen. The Flash, he could take him or leave him, but the doe-eyed, speedy, golden-hearted hero underneath was causing…issues.

This plan of Hewitt’s, though, wasn’t made for his skillset and while he hadn’t officially turned the man down, part of him churned uncomfortably at the thought of Hewitt recruiting another, more gullible criminal to do his dirty work. Or, worse yet, going after the Flash himself.

“Hewitt’s got this idea that he’s been wronged by your team in some way. Asked me to do him a favor in return for a good deal of money.” Len traced his fingers along the side of the cold gun’s barrel. “Said it was too suspicious to do it himself, that he needed someone up to the job who could get close to the Flash.”

Barry’s eyes darted between the gun and Len’s face. “So he asked you to hurt me. And possibly the rest of the team.”

“I believe his exact words were to ‘take him down while I handle the rest’.”

The flare of anger that crossed his face, sharp and vivid like the glint of a knife in the darkness, was interesting. Nonetheless, Len had a sense it wasn’t directed toward him.

“Hewitt was a candidate for Firestorm,” Barry explained, his fingers digging into his arms through his gray sweater sleeves. “He wasn’t a match with the other half, but he absorbed energy from the failed connection anyway and…he didn’t take it well.”

“Obviously,” Len drawled, drawing out the syllables as his fingers neared the trigger.

“Yeah, we had to get him to overexert his powers to take him down. But he also promised he wouldn’t do anything drastic or tell anyone about, you know.” He made a vague gesture toward himself and bit his lower lip.

“Thought you would’ve learned your lesson from the last time you trusted a man’s word, Barry.”

Another flicker of something too quick for Len to name. Len wondered if Barry had forgotten about Ferris Air after the shitshow that was Lewis Snart.

“If you’re here to kill me, you would’ve done it already,” Barry pointed out. “Or is this another one of your ‘gifts’?”

The fact that Barry was unafraid of him, even now after everything he’d done and betrayed him over, after deals he’d twisted to his advantage and breaking and entering multiple times, should’ve been worrying. Well, it was. Maybe the kid had had a point when he’d brought up his lack of crime last December.

He could do it: fire at Barry - who’d likely avoid the initial blast and either try and distract him with more heroic speeches or, if he was smarter, seize the cold gun - and end it like Hewitt wanted. They both knew Barry wouldn’t attack first, wouldn’t try and hurt him no matter how difficult Len made the fight for him.

Maybe Barry would throw him into Iron Heights again, this time without a visit or a sad, knowing stare to accompany him to his temporary home. Both Wests would have a field day berating him about trusting supervillains. Maybe then the message would sink in.

His hand slid away from the trigger.

The thing was, Len didn’t feel terribly concerned. Which was a problem in itself. For many reasons.

None of which he was diving into right now.

“Neither.” Len pushed up from the chair, placing his gun back into its holster under Barry’s ever-present gaze, and crossed the distance between them easily. Barry didn’t budge, but his grip loosened on his arms as Len approached. “I haven’t turned Hewitt down yet, said I’d give the offer more thought after a good night’s rest. And I don’t doubt he’ll be asking around for other volunteers, most of whom would be more than happy to help.”

“You…don’t want to turn it down?”

Len rolled his eyes. “Unless you want an onslaught of metahumans coming after your friends at the Labs, _no_. Funny, though - thought you’d be jumping at this opportunity.”

Barry frowned. “An opportunity for what?”

“Didn’t you say you just needed to wear him down? Hard to do that by yourself without the rest of this _Firestorm_ , I’d imagine.”

Barry’s eyes widened; the implications (finally) registering. “Wait. Are you suggesting a team-up?”

“More of a hook and bait situation,” Len corrected, but the growing smile on Barry’s face indicated he was hardly listening.

“And you said you had no interest in playing hero.”

Len fixed him with glare. Not that it seemed to do any good with Barry already relaxing and unfolding his arms. “And I _don’t_. That isn’t what this is, _Flash_.”

“Of course. Definitely not,” Barry teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Len hated the unwavering eagerness and that deliberate curl to his mouth.

He was going to regret this.


	26. Coldflash, Ghost Prank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "It's after Leonard's “death,” The Legends have already told Barry about Len's sacrifice. But after Leonard comes back from the dead he comes up with the bright idea to break into Barry's apartment and trick the speedster into thinking he's a ghost, just for the mere fact he's bored."
> 
> Mentions of character death and nightmares.

Barry took three steps into the living room and came to a halt. Were it not for his speed-enhanced reflexes, he definitely would’ve dropped the glass of water he’d taken the trouble to get minutes before.

“Gotta say, Barry, I was expecting a bit more enthusiasm and less staring,” Leonard Snart said, his head turning to the side the longer Barry stayed put. He looked at ease, as always, lounging on Barry’s couch in his leather jacket and with his boots propped on his coffee table.

But it couldn’t be.

Ray’s melancholy tone nagged at the back of his mind, memories of _he died a hero_ echoing in his ears.

Every impulse in Barry’s body hissed at him to touch, to make sure it was him, because it _couldn’t be_ him. Rationally speaking, it just…it wasn’t possible.

Maybe he was still asleep. It was an idea both relieving and disappointing, but it’d happened before, who’s to say it wouldn’t happen again?

“What are you?” The question came out raw, far too quiet with only the kitchen light to see.

Snart - be him a ghost or a hallucination or a figment of his overactive imagination - chuckled. The sound made Barry’s heart squeeze tight in his chest, like a balloon on the verge of popping. He had to look away and swallow a lump forming in the base of his throat.

“A friendly spirit, I suppose.”

Dreaming, then. Either that or Barry had become a medium overnight. He stomped the hope that had started to swell inside him underfoot.

“Well, you’re a little late. He died months ago. Or, you died, I guess.” Barry rubbed at his eyes with one hand. He really ought to head to bed but his legs didn’t want to obey. “Either way, I’m talking to myself and I should go.”

Snart hummed. “Good point. After all, that insomnia won’t cure itself. When was the last time you chilled out, kid?”

Great. Even a hallucination of Snart had the man’s sense of humor. Was it better or worse to be scolded by a figment of his imagination about his lack of sleep?

“Doesn’t matter. We’re not having this conversation.” Barry turned to head back to bed, and forced himself to start walking. Maybe he should’ve taken Caitlin up on her offer of learning meditation to help with the restless nights he’d been having. This was a blatant sign from the universe, if nothing else, that he ought to have a good night’s rest.

“You’ve gotten less fun.” He fought the urge to groan as the sound of Snart’s voice followed him. Was it going to bother him all night? “I take it crime in Central’s only been worse while I’ve been away.”

Barry snorted and opened his bedroom door. “Something like that. Look, clearly I need to sleep, so can you just…I don’t know, leave?”

Another laugh, this time less sardonic than the first. Barry glanced behind him but Snart had his hand on the handle already so he didn’t fuss over closing the door. If hallucinations could even do that.

“How rude. And after I just got here.”

He pulled the worn t-shirt over his head and grimaced at how slick it’d become. He’d put it on only a couple hours before going to bed but with how he’d been tossing and turning all night, it was no wonder the shirt was soaked with sweat.

“You can leave as easily as you came. It’s not like you’re real,” he reminded Snart.

Barry could feel Snart’s gaze slid to his bare chest, tracing the lines of his back as he turned to throw the shirt in his hamper. Dream or not, the weight of his icy stare made something coiled around his insides loosen its grip for a few moments.

“Hm. Would be a shame, though. Came back to life and my own nemesis won’t talk to me for more than a minute.”

Barry shook his head, trying to shrug off the prickling behind his eyes. “‘Nemesis’? Really? We haven’t been enemies for a long - ”

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, an analogy he was acutely familiar with, and he cut himself off, sudden warmth worming its way through his bones. Barry turned around with his heart in his throat.

Snart stared back expectantly, daring Barry to continue. If he didn’t know the man as well as he did after all this time, he would’ve missed the ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Well, if he knew Snart as well as he claimed, he would’ve probably figured out the punchline the second Snart opened his mouth.

The laugh he let out verged on hysterical as he ran his hands through the back of his hair, gripping tufts of hair in an effort to ground himself against the wave of giddy hope that threatened to wash him out to sea. “You,” he choked out, his voice cracking, “are an asshole.”

Snart stepped closer, unabashedly scanning Barry’s half-naked form but he couldn’t find the will to be embarrassed. “Took you long enough, Scarlet.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the sheer relief that twisted his judgment, but Barry could’ve sworn he heard a note of fond exasperation in his words.

Either way, Barry blamed the way he surged forward and seized the man by the front of his jacket entirely on sleep deprivation. The kiss that came after - well, that was on him.

It wasn’t as if Snart was complaining, though, if his hands on Barry’s hips, rubbing smooth circles against his skin as he shivered, and his tongue sliding alongside the seam of Barry’s lips were any indication. Snart chuckled against his mouth and adjusted the angle with a slow tilt of his head, deepening the kiss and earning him a quiet noise of surprise from Barry. The kiss tasted minty, like Snart had been chewing gum before he’d arrived, the delicious drag of their mouths against each other sending a thrill down Barry’s spine.

Even with his speed, it felt like hours before Barry finally broke away, unable to stifle his grin at the dark visceral want in Snart’s blue eyes. The sight was unfamiliar - and yet the sense of deja vu crept in like an old friend the more he looked over the other man. He was reminded eerily of the last time he’d seen Snart at Christmas; all he was missing were the parka and the cold gun to complete the memory.

“How are you even - ?” Barry ran his fingers over the dark jacket, reveling in the surreal feel of the thief’s heartbeat under his fingertips. “Did they have to mess with time to get you back?”

Snart inclined his head and smirked. His thumbs passed over the groove of Barry’s hip, featherlight and teasing, and it grew increasingly difficult not to pull him back into another kiss.

“No more than your usual exploits into the past. Though it was more of a solo effort this time.” One hand dipped lower down Barry’s hip, grazing his boxer-clad thigh, completely at odds with his cool tone. “But I do believe I heard you mention - multiple times, if I’m not mistaken - the prospect of sleep?”

Barry groaned and tried not to sway further into Snart’s space as the man stepped away. The absence of his hands was chilling, spreading goosebumps all over his skin. “You were the one convincing me you were some kind of ghost.”

“You’re sleep-deprived enough to believe anything right about now. I hardly think that’s _my_ fault.”

Barry muttered an incoherent curse, which didn’t seem to help his case, but he allowed Snart to nudge him toward the bed. It _was_ the middle of the night. He had work tomorrow and Iris had been planning on meeting him for coffee beforehand. Somehow he doubted explaining his reasoning behind rescheduling would not go over well: _Hey, so, the not-so-dead Captain Cold broke into my apartment last night and I’ll be spending the rest of the day catching up and making out with him, sounds cool?_

Yeah, no.

“Whatever you’re laughing about must be fascinating,” Snart said dryly, cocking a brow as Barry pulled himself onto the bed but didn’t get under the covers. Barry hadn’t realized his amusement was that visible. Then again, Snart did make it his job to read others like the back of his hand, so he couldn’t be too surprised.

The pit of his stomach fluttered as Snart made to leave. He caught Snart’s wrist before he could move far, an unexpected weight pressing on his chest. “Where are you going?”

Snart sent him a look and he felt much younger for an instant staring up at the thief. “I’d like to get a good night’s sleep as well, and you have a nice, comfortable couch out there.”

“I also have a big bed.”

Snart’s expression shifted quickly from unimpressed to something closer to uncertainty. “Can’t sleep with someone tossing and turning next to me.”

Barry tugged at his wrist with a gentle grip, not tight enough that Snart wouldn’t be able to yank himself away, trying to convey his plea through a soft smile. It should’ve felt weird, asking a supervillain to share the bed, but he was tired and while part of him didn’t want to subject Snart to the inevitable aftermath of Barry’s nightmares, the idea of sleeping alone again just…

His lungs were already constricting at the thought.

Whatever Snart saw on his face must’ve been enough because his shoulders dropped, just a little, and his fingers brushed Barry’s pulse point over his wrist, pressing lightly against the rapid-fire beat. This time he knew he couldn’t be imagining the flash of something much warmer than his usual cold sneer passing across his face.

“I _suppose_ if someone has to ensure you stay put,” he said with a staged sigh, moving to divest himself of his jacket. “Wouldn’t want you to run out of steam, would we?”

Barry didn’t even mind the pun, already pushing himself up to make room as a yawn left his lips. He managed to pull the covers back over him as Snart turned off the light and shut the door, the clawed hands of sleep dragging him closer to the edge of the oncoming nightmares. He wasn’t sure if he dreamt the tender press against his shoulder blades as he slid under, but it brought a smile to his face anyway.


	27. Coldwave, Can't Make Any Promises Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "coldwave "can't make any promises now""
> 
> Implied character death.

“How long you been standing there, partner?”

He didn’t turn around, didn’t acknowledge the comment. It’d been three months - _three months, twelve days and six hours_ , a familiar sardonic drawl in the back of his mind - since this… _thing_ had started popping up.

There really wasn’t a better word for him - _it_ other than _thing_. Not if Mick wanted to spare himself a headache and a burn in his chest that had nothing to do with his scars.

A sigh reached his ears. It’d really nailed the petulant lilt to its voice. “You’re really going to give me the silent treatment.”

Mick shrugged.

“How mature of you.” Yeah, definitely nailing that whine. He flipped it off without glancing back. “I already told you, I can’t stay long.”

 _Good_ , he thought but didn’t say aloud.

“ _Mick_.” His stomach twisted involuntarily. “It’s me.”

“Fuck off.” His voice came out hoarser than he anticipated. He hadn’t meant to speak in the first place.

Another sigh. “Knew I should’ve gone to Lisa first. If I _could_ , that is.”

“Quit bothering me.” Mick set aside the paper he’d been typing on - once he was distracted, there was no way he was getting back to writing the scene he’d been working on for nearly a week now. Thanks to a certain _thing_ bugging him about rings and temporal imbalance or whatever it was this time.

“Can’t until you _listen_ to me, Mick. Being dead’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Trust me.”

Mick hummed. The sound didn’t seem to please it; he heard footsteps approach, careful and light, always so cautious even when it was just them.

No. It wasn’t _them_ , there _was_ no _them_. Not anymore.


	28. Coldflash, "How Did You Do It?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "(Dialogue prompt, I know it's not much so if you don't want to respond to it that's fine=) “How did you do it?” “Do what?” “Get him to smile. That's the first time he's smiled in years.”" for Coldflash

“How did you do it?”

Len blinked and turned to face Iris. Her expression was unreadable, her lips pressed together in a tight line. It’d been a while since he’d seen her, but the fire behind her eyes still held his gaze, even if it was coupled with dark bags and something almost uncertain in her stance.

“Do what?”

Iris studied him for a moment longer and the corner of her mouth curled up slowly. “Get him to smile. That’s the first time he’s smiled in years.”

Len opened his mouth to ask what she meant when a laugh drew his attention. Cisco was hovering over the computers, gesticulating with his candy bar wildly while Caitlin shook her head as she looked over her tablet. The source of the laughter came from Barry, however, who tried to muffle the snort with his hand over his mouth next to Caitlin, his eyes shining. Even with his stubbled beard, he looked five years younger just by giggling like a middle schooler.

It was the most he’d seen Barry smile or laugh since he’d popped into existence in the middle of S.T.A.R. Labs’ Cortex and passed out before he could get out any words aside from “Legends…time…strings…” Cisco had mentioned it’d been almost ten years since his sacrifice at the Oculus, that the Legends were still out there fixing history and he’d been thought dead, but it didn’t explain why Team Flash looked so…

Well. _Run-down_ was probably the best word for it. The only one who’d seemed remotely like themselves (from what he remembered anyway) was Cisco, but even he rarely smiled or joked around in the last hour since Len’d awoken.

It was disconcerting to see the palpable gloom engulfing the team, more so than he’d imagined. Something about the sight of Barry’s grim expression when he’d asked about what he’d missed in the last decade rubbed him the wrong way.

“I believe Cisco’s stories are doing the trick nicely,” he said, turning back to Iris.

“No, I mean… He’s been like this since you came back. We thought you were a doppelganger at first - maybe Leo or that one guy Sara mentioned from before you knew his identity - but he was sure it was you. I’ve never - ” Iris glanced at Barry and her shoulders slumped. “I’ve never seen him this happy - _genuinely_ happy in a while.”

“I hardly think my presence would be any cause for celebration.”

Iris frowned. “How well do you remember Siberia?”

Len tilted his head. “Fairly well, considering it happened not too long ago. For me, that is. Explains a bit, now that I think of it.”

She nodded and bit her lip. “Barry wanted to tell you.” The words came out as a whisper, as if she were nervous to speak them aloud. “He was scared for me but every time he looked at you, I could tell…he didn’t want to lose you.”

Len’s chest seized as cold fingers gripped it. “I doubt - ”

“Even when he dropped you off in Siberia, with the Legends, I saw the look on his face. I almost wanted to tell him to stop but, well, the last time he’d messed up time…things didn’t go so well.” Iris shut her eyes. “The point is, Leonard, that he missed you. He always has. And if you’re what’s helped him get over - if you’re able to help him smile again,” and here she smiled, small and sad, “then thank you.”

Len watched her walk away, calling to Caitlin to help her run diagnostics, and he wanted to snap, to tell her she was wrong. He didn’t know what’d happened since ten years had gone by in the blink of an eye, didn’t know what made Barry Allen look so _miserable_ or why there was no longer a ring on his finger but a different band on Iris’ or what exactly the speedster had to get over. But none of it had to do with him.

He was just a criminal, someone Barry had once decided deserved better when he was the last person on Earth who did. Maybe all that time travel was getting to Barry’s head. Or Iris’, if she was insinuating what he thought she was.

Barry glanced over and caught his gaze and the smile he was trying to hide softened as his hand slipped lower from his face. Len’s lips quirked before he could stop them, the ice beginning to thaw in his chest.

It felt like yesterday the kid had stared him down through the glass in Iron Heights and murmured “There’s good in you” into a phone, but that was the same face walking toward him now, albeit older and wearier than he recalled.

“Hey, uh,” Barry ducked his head, his hand flying to the back of his neck, “do you want us to call the Legends up? I mean, Mick’s still with them and I know you probably want to see Lisa so if Cisco can find her, I’m sure we can - ”

“I think…” Len met Barry’s eyes and swallowed down the lump rising in his throat. The hope flickering behind those green eyes was so _familiar_ , so _desperate_ and he hated that he couldn’t look away.

 _Weak_ , hissed a voice eerily akin to his father’s in the back of his mind.

The memory of Iris’ smile and her sincere “thank you” tamped down on the urge to bolt, to sneer in the face of his once-nemesis’ idea of help. He exhaled and folded his arms over his chest.

“I _think_ I might stick around for a little longer in the city. Getting my bearings and all. A lot can change in ten years, after all.”

Barry smiled, just as wide and knowing as he remembered though the ever-present sadness tore at its edges, and Len could feel the ice melt completely.

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it can.”


	29. Flashvibe, Vampires Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "super spoopy prompts :D flashvibe vampires please?"
> 
> Mentions of blood and death.

“You gotta stop squirming, babe,” Cisco scolded, swatting Barry’s hovering hand away. The action earned him a petulant pout, a look so utterly pitiful that it made him snort and shake his head.

At least he’d had the forethought to tie his hair up before treating his ridiculous boyfriend. He loved Barry and there were many things he tolerated, but _blood_ in his _hair_ \- ew.

Just. No.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Barry grumbled. Cisco was tempted to try and pinch his cheek, if only to tease him, but they both knew Barry was a lot faster. “Had to help Wally.”

“I didn’t say that. But seriously, this is the third time this month - and we’re barely two weeks into November!” Cisco paused in opening the ziplock baggie (thank goodness for modern age technology and tools, amiright?) to waggle a finger at Barry’s oncoming protest. “Nuh-uh, I’m being serious right now, okay? I get that you’re worried about them, believe me, I do, but Joe and Iris and Wally have been taking care of themselves a lot longer than you’ve known ’em.”

Barry sighed and leaned back on the sofa, his eyes drifting to the ratty cushion’s edge where his fingers picked at the seams. Which reminded Cisco, he really needed to talk to Iris and Caitlin about going furniture shopping because god knows Barry (bless his heart) was never going to remember to do it.

As much as he loved drinking blood to his heart’s content, having to plant your ass in multiple bloodstains to watch reruns of Star Trek episodes was… _no bueno._

“He’s still a newborn,” Barry said after a minute, not meeting his eyes.

“Wally’s been taking care of himself for a while,” Cisco repeated slowly just to watch Barry’s mouth twitch. His nostrils flared when he opened the baggie, his mouth already watering. Cisco heard Barry’s small sigh as well. Fuck, that never got old. “Before Joe and Iris, even. If anything happens he can take care of it. Or they’ll call, you know they will.”

Barry nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“That sounded convincing.”

That got Barry to meet his gaze for a mock glare, which really looked too much like his signature adorable pout to intimidate him. “It’s just - when I turned, I had you and Caitlin to help me.”

“And calm you down,” Cisco recalled with a snicker. Barry hadn’t taken the whole “undead” thing well. Caitlin’s insistence on having Barry drink right away so he didn’t pass out (again) probably hadn’t helped, come to think of it.

Still, after the state Barry’s Sire had left him in, the horror of coming back to the apartment to find -

Cisco suppressed a shudder. _Happy thoughts, happy thoughts_.

If he ever saw Eobard Thawne again, he was putting that stake through the asshole’s heart himself. (Technically Iris had first dibs as his ass-kicking best friend, but he was the ass-kicking boyfriend, okay?)

Barry chuckled, though if he knew what Cisco’s train of thought was veering determinedly away from, he likely wouldn’t have looked so amused. “Yeah, exactly. And I know I had it worse than Wally and not all turnings are like _that_ , but…” A shadow passed over his face, an all-too-familiar melancholy that Cisco wanted to smooth away with a wave of his hand. His voice softened. “I keep thinking about that night. How I should’ve been there, should’ve known something was wrong before Iris called - ”

“Whoa, whoa.” Cisco held up a hand. “We’re not playing the blame game here, Barr. That wasn’t your fault.”

“Cisco - ”

“ _It. Wasn’t._ _Your_. _Fault_.” He jabbed a finger into his boyfriend’s chest to punctuate each word, refusing to look away when Barry winced. “We had no idea Wally was gonna get turned. _You_ had no idea, least of all that it’d happen when you left them alone. Iris doesn’t blame you, Wally doesn’t, and your loving, awesome boyfriend definitely knows it wasn’t your fault, so cut that shit, ya got it?”

Barry sighed. “That’s just it, though. No matter whose fault it was, Wally still got turned. I know it’s been years since you or Cait had to deal with it, but it’s not a fun experience. Relearning your body and your…instincts, I guess.”

Cisco remembered. He remembered waking the day after his brother’s murder, terrified and certain he’d died when a stranger had ambushed him in an alley.

He remembered his mother’s look of horror when he came home covered in blood after his first kill, his father hurrying for the gun when he’d tried to comfort her.

“It’s not easy. I don’t want him to go through the whole process at all.”

Cisco set aside the blood baggie. Clearly feeding time was going to have to wait. “None of us do, babe.”

“I don’t think it’s sunken in yet,” Barry whispered, as if he were sharing some great conspiracy theory. “That he’s…immortal. That he’ll…”

_That he’ll have to watch them die._

He pulled Barry closer and his boyfriend came willingly, burying his face in Cisco’s neck. Cisco brought his hand up to run it gently through his hair, pressing his nose into the shorter strands. For a moment he was reminded of when Barry had been turned, how he used to cuddle against Cisco when the nightmares grew too painful to deal with on his own. Iris had mentioned that Barry hugged her more once his fear of accidentally biting her began to fade, but he knew it was less due to fear and more for his own comfort.

It was habit now, to snuggle like this, almost as if Barry believed by hiding his face from the world, Cisco could somehow protect him from its horrors.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Cisco assured him.

“I already went through it with - ” He could feel Barry swallow hard, his skin prickling at the deep exhale that followed. “I don’t want to watch him go through it too. He lost his mom, and now he’s gonna - ”

“Hey, Wally’s tough. Besides, it’s like you said, he’s got us. Me, you, Cait. Iris and Joe aren’t going anywhere just yet. We’ve got years before we need to worry about it.”

Barry’s arms wound around his waist and Cisco shifted to kiss the top of his head. He gave Barry a squeeze to the side and couldn’t help but smile at the sound he made. Ticklish as ever.

Before he’d meet Barry, before he’d even run across Caitlin, Cisco never would’ve imagined being able to sit in his apartment like this, never would’ve thought he could settle somewhere with someone who wouldn’t mind living with a vampire. He’d never told Barry - though sometimes he suspected the other knew - but it took over a century for him to come to terms with and stop trying to drinking himself into a stupor over his immortality. People weren’t exactly accommodating to vampires in any time period, even if they were little more than myth now.

It didn’t bother him as much anymore. Well, it did, if he took time to contemplate the bigotry, but with Caitlin, Barry, and now Wally with him…

He glanced down at Barry, whose hands were starting to rub the small of his back. As if Cisco was the one in need of solace.

Yeah, things were gonna be okay.


	30. Coldwestallen, Urban Legend Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Spooky fic prompts, 16 - coldwestallen (or 27 if you've already been asked for 16!)"
> 
> Note: The Vanishing hitchhiker (or variations such as the ghostly hitchhiker, the disappearing hitchhiker, the phantom hitchhiker or simply the hitchhiker) story is an urban legend in which people traveling by vehicle meet with or are accompanied by a hitchhiker who subsequently vanishes without explanation, often from a moving vehicle.
> 
> Also, warning for some creepy touching.

Barry hadn’t wanted to go on the road trip in the first place.

He knew it was petty to think _I told you so_ when his girlfriend’s dad was in the hospital, but when Joe had called in the middle of their stop at this antique museum (which he knew was probably boring Iris, but he found the history fascinating), he’d guessed it even before she told him the situation. Thankfully, they were on the last leg of the trip and only a few states over from Central.

“How bad is he?” he asked as they pulled back onto the highway.

Iris shook her head. Barry wondered if she realized her hands were trembling in her lap. “I - I don’t know. Cecille had to pick up when they took him back for surgery. He didn’t sound too bad. I think.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he told her, flashing a thin smile her way. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

“I know, I just - ” Barry heard her voice start to quiver right before he switched lanes, nearly slamming on the brake when some asshole tried to cut him off. “She said the accident was bad. Like, _bad_. He could’ve died, Barr.”

“Don’t think about that. He’s not dead now, he’s going to be fine. Since when did Joe let anything like an accident stop him, huh?”

She sniffed. He figured that was the best semblance of a laugh he’d get out of Iris at the moment. “Yeah. Uh, she said she was gonna get Wally too, so he’ll meet us there.”

“Isn’t he in Keystone?”

“He’s catching the first train over.”

Barry hummed and breathed a grateful sigh when he saw the traffic start to clear up ahead of them. There was hardly anyone on the highway, actually, so the “traffic” was more like less than a dozen cars fighting to take the same exit.

Maybe luck was on their side after all.

Another quiet sniff from Iris made him reach out to tangle his fingers with hers, keeping one hand on the wheel as they bypassed the majority of the cars trying to get off. Her hand was a gentle pressure in his, beginning to still with every caress of his thumb across her knuckles.

When she’d suggested the idea of a road trip over the weekend, a break from how swamped they were at work, Barry had been reluctant. For one, neither of them had ever been on a road trip and didn’t know the first thing about what they were doing. Hell, they’d barely been outside of Central City. Where would they go? Knowing them both, they’d wind up cutting the trip short due to boredom or some kind of emergency.

Iris had been determined, though, wanted to try out the idea for a quick getaway. “We can’t stick to our comfort zones forever, Barr,” she’d said, sitting next to him with her laptop in hand. “When will we get a chance to do this again?”

Barry really should’ve remembered that winning an argument with Iris was as plausible as gaining superpowers overnight.

Still, rubbing this in Iris’s face when her dad had gotten into a car accident was a cruel idea. And something he’d never do, of course. Neither of them could’ve known that truck would hit Joe.

Speaking of hitting someone, though…

Barry blinked once, then twice. Was that - ?

Iris sat upright and he saw her eyes widen out of the corner of his gaze. “Oh my god. Barry, pull over.”

“Iris - ”

“He looks like he’s hurt, Barry,” she said and he bit his lip, glancing at the figure coming up on the side of the highway. It did look like there was something dark splattered across his forehead. His stomach churned at the thought.

“He could be a criminal,” he protested weakly. “And Joe - ”

“It’ll take almost six hours to get home,” Iris pointed out. “We have time to stop and at least see if he’s okay.”

Barry bit back another sigh, this time of exasperation, and changed lanes, not that he needed to signal given the lack of activity on the road.

The figure - a man with shorn dark hair and mussed clothes, as if he’d been rolling in the dirt before wandering alongside the highway - wasted little time in getting the door, letting himself into the back with a huff of relief. Through his mirror, Barry could see the splotches on his face were indeed a mixture of dirt and something that looked eerily like blood, not that the other appeared to be bothered by the injury. His eyes, a startlingly clear shade of blue that made his heart stutter in its tracks for an instant, locked onto Barry’s. With the leather jacket and dirtied jeans, he looked like he belonged in an action movie franchise.

The stranger’s smirk bled smooth arrogance, as well as a hint of bemusement Barry spotted flickering in his gaze, as if he knew what Barry was thinking.

“Are you alright?” Iris’s voice broke the connection, concern causing her to twist in the passenger seat to face the stranger. “That’s a lot of blood, do you need us to get you to a hospital?”

His low chuckle sent a shiver running up Barry’s spine. “Not necessary, but thank you, miss…”

“Iris,” she supplied politely and gestured to Barry whose hand tightened on the wheel. “And this is my boyfriend Barry. But really, are you sure - ?”

“ _Pleasure_ to meet you.” The man tilted his head, pulling the seat belt over him as he draped an arm across the back of his seat. “I’m not hurt, just took a tumble in the woods. You wouldn’t happen to be on your way back to Central City, would you?”

“We are,” Barry confirmed, albeit warily. He wasn’t sure whether the other was lying about his injury because that dark red did not look like ketchup. “Need a ride, man?”

The man’s smirk grew. “A ride would be _lovely_. And please, call me Len.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Iris said, nodding to Barry who pulled the car out of park to get back on the road. “We’re on our way to the hospital, after all. Can’t hurt to check just in case.”

“I’m sure.” Barry watched the stranger, _Len_ , lean back through the mirror. He scanned Iris with a quick flick of his eyes and Barry’s insides twisted a little at the unchecked appreciation. “What’s the rush for you? No tumbles of your own?”

Iris’s hand found Barry’s once more, their knuckles knocking against the gearshift. “My, uh, dad. He got in an accident. We’re heading back to see him when he gets out of surgery.”

Strangely, the smirk vanished. Something somber crossed Len’s face, darkening his brow.

No, not somber It was almost as if he were -

Barry swore the car’s A/C stuttered.

Weird. Maybe he needed to get that checked out.

“Sorry. Hope he makes it. Lots of accidents these days.”

Iris blew out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Cecille, that’s his girlfriend, she… She said the driver was drunk.” Barry squeezed her hand. “You probably don’t want to hear this, sorry - ”

“It’s alright.” Len’s voice had gentled. Barry heard a rustle from the back, the seat belt protesting as he leaned forward to lay a hand on the back of Iris’s seat. A whiff of cool air tickled the back of Barry’s neck. He nearly jerked forward, biting his lip to hide his surprise. “Nothing wrong with a little worry. Healthy, even.”

Iris laughed, a dry, quiet noise that made Barry’s heart ache. “I guess.”

“He’s going to be fine,” Barry reassured her. A sports car sped by, the roar of the engine cutting through the darkness. “You meeting up with anyone in Central, Len?”

It took all his willpower not to glance at the mirror as Len paused. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up on their own, as if someone were drawing the pad of their thumb slowly over the area.

The sensation wasn’t…entirely unpleasant. Barry shifted in his seat.

“My sister.” Len’s drawl was back, though not quite as heavy as it’d initially been. “She lives downtown.”

“Oh, good. So, uh, what were you doing out in the woods in the first place? Can’t imagine you walked out here on your own.”

“Car broke down. You might’ve passed it.”

Iris frowned. “It did? We didn’t see any cars on our way here. Where did you leave it?”

“Near a rest stop a while back,” Len said shortly. “Had to move it off the road so I didn’t cause any accidents.”

Barry nodded, longing to look over at Iris but he could feel that invisible finger pressing harder now, like a warning. Something about Len’s story didn’t sit right in his gut.

“Lucky we found you then.”

Len chuckled and Barry’s eyes darted to the mirror before he could stop himself. He hadn’t realized how close the stranger had gotten, his lips nearly pressed against Iris’ neck with one hand on the nape of Barry’s.

Oh. When had that small touch become _real_?

Len’s icy gaze made him shudder - not from the sharp blues boring into him but the unexpected _hunger_ he could see lurking behind them.

There was no one else on the road, so he figured there was little risk in turning his head to ask Len to move and -

His chest seized, dumbfounded by the empty backseat staring back at him.

_What the - ?_

“Barr?” Iris’s grip tightened on his hand, her eyes narrowing. “You okay?”

Barry righted the wheel before they wound up swerving off the road, his heart pounding as he chanced a look at the mirror again.

Len was practically _beaming_ back at him, as if he had solved a puzzle, those pearly whites glittering like fangs.

What… 

_How_ …

He ran a hand up Barry’s neck into his hair and Barry swallowed hard at what should’ve been a _nonexistent sensation_ as Len attempted to soothe him via petting. He tried not to relax into the touch but his back stiffened when a finger brushed the side of his face.

If Iris noticed their new pal had _disappeared_ , she said nothing of it, still watching Barry with bewildered apprehension as Len’s grin grazed her earlobe.

“Yeah,” Len murmured, the sound causing Iris to jolt for a second, her cheeks flushed, “ _lucky me_.”


	31. Coldwestallen, Blood Feud Au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "How about blood feud and Coldwestallen?"
> 
> Mentions of death and violence.

They were lovers once, many years before her father stumbled upon them holed up in her room in an embrace, had shouted and rushed for his gun before realizing too late she was not being attacked.

It was difficult to remember that after centuries of bloodshed.

“I thought we had a _deal_.” He practically purred the word, teeth flashing like lightning from the doorway to her bedroom. He always had liked dark clothes, liked hiding in the shadows watching others come and go.

In his leather jacket and jeans, his eyes lingering on the low cut of her tank top for a split-second, he was hardly hiding now.

“How did you get in?”

He snorted, leaning back against the doorframe. “With one lock you clearly forgot to lock beforehand as your only mode of security - ”

“Right.” She grimaced. It’d been a long day, she knew she’d forgotten _something_. “I get it.”

“You’ve gotten complacent.” His mouth curved upward at the corners as she bristled. “You have. Didn’t even hear when I came in.”

She hadn’t, no. She’d been busy preparing for…

Her eyes widened.

No. He wouldn’t.

Actually, he definitely would, the bastard.

“You’re not staying.”

“Who said I was planning on it?”

She stepped forward to jab a finger at his chest. He didn’t even balk at the movement; centuries of this immortal feud had rendered them both immune to most of their tricks. Mostly. “I know what you’re doing,” she hissed. “You’re not going to be here when he arrives.”

The familiar defiance gleaming behind his gaze was unfairly irritating and she remembered a time when they’d fallen into bed together, when he teased her with quips and nips behind her ears and she took that desire as a personal challenge. What had started as exploration turned into something more and yet…

She shoved aside the knot in her chest. They were too far gone for those times now. Not since their fathers had died - been _murdered_ by opposing sides - and everything had changed.

Even if he insisted on showing up every decade or so to annoy her.

A knock on the door startled her before she turned to him with a glare. The maddening smirk hadn’t lessened any.

“You _knew_ he was coming!”

“I wouldn’t be much of a nemesis - ” she couldn’t help but scoff at his egotism “ - if I didn’t check in every once in a while.”

“Well, I have an actual _visitor_ so you can’t be - where are you going - ?!”

He breezed past her without a word to the front door. She opened her mouth to tell him off when he threw it open, inclining his head at -

“Hey, Iris - what, _Len_?” Barry blinked and frowned. She was momentarily distracted by his red sweater, the puppy-like tilt of his head. And - wait, was that a bouquet of flowers in his hand?

And _what_ did he call him?

She raised an eyebrow at Leonard, who wouldn’t know the word _decency_ if it slapped him upside the head, and he threw her a false smile. When they’d been together, he’d preferred “Leo” for a time.

Up until Lewis had been shot by Wally and Joe, that is.

She was beginning to _really_ regret not rescheduling dinner.

Years of fighting and immortality got…well, it was _boring_ when you only had a snarky jackass ex for company. Meeting Barry at the park had seemed so _normal_ and, for the first time in a long while, exciting. Which was saying something given that she’d spent five years of her long life traveling the world. Not even visiting Europe was thrilling after a year or two.

And maybe it was nice to see that blinding grin, the adorable flush, directed at her without a sly comment, genuine affection that wasn’t tainted with years of bitterness. She’d loved - perhaps still did, if she was honest with herself, because it had taken years to get over the initial tears - Leonard but that had been, well, _then_ , before the war and the bloody fights and the realization that death would never come.

For _Barry_ , though…

“Wait, you two know each other?” Barry’s eyes darted between them both and he bit his lower lip. “Or are… Uh, I mean - ”

“Not for many, many years, kid,” Leonard assured him, though she could see the muscle jumping in his jaw from here. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“How do _you_ two know one another, then?” She aimed the question at Barry, whose telltale flush started to spread from the apples of his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Oh, we - well, I kind of ran into him at Jitters. We got to talking and…” Barry glanced at Leonard and his voice trailed off as the other winked.

Right.

She sighed and pinched the skin above her nose. It was hard to blame Barry when she was more guilty of falling in with Leonard than anyone in the apartment.

Though, he didn’t look particularly guilty, certainly not when he had that look in his eyes again, as if he -

Oh.

 _Oh_.

She straightened and saw the moment he recognized the revelation dawning on her, the smugness of his smirk blatant.

“So,” Barry said, oblivious to the heat stirring in her gut and the sudden kick of her heartbeat, “are you gonna…”

“Yes, come in, come in.” She moved to close the door behind Barry, though not before giving Leonard a knowing look. She heard him murmur something to Barry as she locked the door (not making that mistake twice) and when she turned around, the latter was blushing a brighter red.

Leonard’s smirk almost looked like the genuine smile he used to wear around her.

It was easy to remember falling in love with him, even easier to picture falling in love with _Barry and him._

Leonard had always been the better at making plans out of the two of them.

Iris clasped her hands together, drawing both of their attentions as she smiled. “So, dinner, boys?”


	32. Coldflashwave, "Nobody Can Trust Me To Do Anything Important!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "14 ColdFlashWave" which was "14. Nobody can trust me to do anything important!"

Admittedly, Len hadn’t walked into the kitchen expecting to hear a growl loud enough to rival Barry’s stomach on late nights when he forgot to eat before patrols and rounded the corner with the intention of asking what was wrong when he came face to face with -

Well. _Barry_.

And a mountain of cake mix boxes piled high on both the granite counters and the kitchen table, burnt chocolate cake stuck to most of the pans lying on the stove.

And the look of sheer disappointment crossing his boyfriend’s face the moment when he registered Len’s presence.

“Barry,” Len said, keeping his expression blank as Barry turned away to continue wiping down the cake pan in his hands, “what’s all this?”

Barry mumbled something quietly but Len couldn’t quite make it out. He moved closer, looping an arm around the other’s waist as he pressed against the taut lines of the speedster’s back. The unhappy noise - no unlike a whine, to be honest - escaped Barry but he didn’t budge.

“It’s seven in the morning. You should be sleeping.”

“Couldn’t,” Barry replied, his tone curt, though he seemed to regret the word once it left his lips, grimacing. “Woke up and realized what time it was. Had to make sure everything was ready.”

Len laid his chin on Barry’s shoulder and resisted the urge to sigh. Worked up as he was, the sound would only make Barry more irritable.

He should’ve guessed that this would happen. He’d woken when Barry snuck out of bed, but after a late night planning a new heist for the Rogues, he’d been too tired to argue and look into Barry’s behavior further than a cursory glance.

“Told you to wait for me,” Len reminded him. “Besides, you know Mick won’t wake for another four hours. Likes his beauty sleep.”

Barry snorted, setting down the pan as Len replaced the washcloth scrubbing it down with his fingers, twining them loosely with Barry’s. His shoulders slumped. “I know. I just - I know you didn’t have to help Mick with _my_ birthday.”

“That’s because he grew up baking and cooking, kid. He’s used to it.”

“But - ” Barry’s brow creased as he glanced back at Len. “I’m the worst cook out of all of us,” he said, and yes, _there_ were those puppy dog eyes of misery.

“Barry.”

“I wanted to, you know, surprise you. Both of you.”

Len gave his hand a squeeze, the other rubbing circles over Barry’s exposed skin between his t-shirt and sweatpants. He took the resulting shiver as a good sign.

“You don’t need to do that.” He clucked his tongue to cut off Barry’s rising objection. “Not because you’re incompetent, because you’re _not_ , and you know that. But because we wanted to do it together, right? For Mick.”

Len leaned back enough to spin Barry around gently, not backing him into the counter all the way as he let their foreheads knock together. Footsteps padded softly somewhere behind him and Len didn’t quite succeed at hiding his grin as he tilted Barry’s chin up.

“Better to do it together anyway, even if your intentions were ever so noble, Scarlet.”

“Never been a big fan of surprises,” Mick added, and Len felt Barry jolt as his eyes darted past Len to meet their other boyfriend’s perceptive look. Sheepishness floundered in his stare, a weak smile flitting across his cheeks. “Thought I was gonna do the first taste test.”

“Nobody can trust me to do anything important around here,” Barry grumbled but the tension in his body sagged out of him and Len chuckled as Mick’s hand came to rest on Len’s shoulder, a silent thanks. The other hand thumbed Barry’s dimples and the speedster leaned into the action without hesitation. Len and Mick weren’t thoughtless, after all - they knew how to take good care of their younger boyfriend.

“Not when it comes to baking,” Mick teased.

Len pulled away to allow Mick to slide in, watching him take Len’s place as he traced their flushed forms. There was no point in hiding their _enthusiasm_ this early, not when they’d been thoroughly woken. “Though, I suppose, you can do the honor of granting him the first taste.”

Barry’s face began to redden, but not before his mouth curled slowly into that cock-sure smirk only the Flash could pull off, running his gaze down to where Mick’s free hand lay on his hip.

And that right there? Definitely a sight he could get used to.

(Make that double with the heavy kiss that followed before Mick reached back to yank Len into the fray, allowing himself to be led with a grin of his own.)


	33. Flashwave, "Is There A Reason Why You're Sitting On My Lap, Doll?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "“is there a reason why you’re sitting on my lap Doll?” flashwave"

Barry was never taking public transportation again. Never. Never again.

(If Iris were there, she’d likely snort and tell him he was acting dramatic, which - well, that was fair. He supposed. But still!)

Barry had never thought losing his speed would be this tiring. He’d somehow forgotten how exhausting and slow the world around him was, and while he knew Caitlin and Cisco were working as hard as they could to fix his powers, trying to navigate his job and the world around him when he couldn’t zip from place to place in seconds was…

Well, for lack of a better term, exhausting.

Maybe it was a side effect from the meta that had drained him. He’d have to ask Caitlin about that later.

But back to public transportation.

More specifically, the bus he was currently on and the bus driver who seemed half-asleep while plowing through red lights and crosswalks. He really didn’t seem to care about keeping to the speed limit and Barry was tempted to offer to take the wheel after ten minutes of white-knuckled panic. Either that or call for help.

Worse yet, it wasn’t as if Barry could sit down and hope for the best. The bus was fairly full, and being surrounded by elderly ladies who guarded their seats and purses like hawks and small children who wailed didn’t make him eager to offer to switch. This left Barry to cling for dear life to the straps overhead with both hands, grimacing as his stomach roiled with every jolt through the floor.

He should’ve expected the rough stop, to be honest, but one of the little boys kicked him in the shin to get his attention - only to show him a booger he’d picked, _great_ \- and Barry loosened his grip for only a moment when he jerked to the left around the turn and scrambled for purchase as he slipped and -

Landed sprawled across the lap of a man who gave a curious grunt at the unexpected sensation.

Well.

At least the lap he landed in was comfortable.

“Is there a reason why you’re sitting on my lap, doll?”

Scratch that, this was an awful lap and definitely not comfortable when it was attached to a known criminal and arsonist.

Barry struggled to sit up, ignoring the tuts from some of the ladies watching him and the flush rising high in his cheeks. It was hard to sit still when his hands kept jerking away from areas that might - well - no, he was just…not gonna think about that.

He chanced a look up at Mick Rory and gave him a sheepish grin, though with the scrutiny he was under, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the man tossed him to the floor in the next minute. He did have to admit that it was weird to see Rory in a t-shirt and jeans, no sign of his goggles or heat gun. Barry could feel the burns along his arms brushing his own sweater-clad limbs and despite the fabric between him he felt _more_ embarrassed somehow.

“You gonna talk or sit there nice and pretty?” Rory asked, raising an eyebrow. He…didn’t look unopposed to the latter option. Not that Barry was focusing on what was down -

Yeah, not entertaining that thought.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I should - ” Barry made an aborted gesture, signaling he _really_ ought to get up, and laughed nervously as he moved to do so, keeping his hands firmly planted on the _seat_ and not Rory.

Of course that was when the bus began to move and a couple shuffled to take his place hanging onto the bus straps.

Sometimes Barry wondered if the multiverse loved conspiring against him.

“Guess you’re stuck here.” Barry turned to Rory to object but the arsonist looked all the more amused, and - wait, was that a hand on his hip? His side certainly felt warmer, something pressing almost gently against the skin between his sweater and his jeans. Barry swallowed hard and resisted the urge to glance down and check.

“Uh, I…” Barry had to clear his throat, which only fueled the fire behind Rory’s growing smirk, the flickering heat in his eyes.

The fact that he was thinking in fire metaphors ought’ve said something for his sanity at this point, but then again, he’d dealt with worse from Snart.

(If he had to hear one more cold pun, he was tempted to throw the man in Iron Heights himself. Seriously, the Frozen reference was a little too far.)

“I should move. Sorry,” Barry said weakly.

Rory’s smirk faltered. “What’re you sorry for?”

“Well - ”

“You fell. So what?”

“I - I mean, your leg is…probably asleep.”

The man didn’t even bother looking impressed, and yeah, Barry could admit that sounded pretty lame to his own ears.

On the other hand (literally), the wandering hand pressing against his skin seemed to be having a great time and he shivered involuntarily when Rory grazed his thumb over the skin beneath his sweater.

(Iris was never hearing about this. Or Cisco. Or Caitlin, for that matter, or - _god forbid_ \- Joe.)

“Better sit tight, doll,” Rory murmured, shifting his weight so Barry slipped a little closer to his ear. Barry tried not to look the surrounding passengers in the eye but he could _feel_ the looks they were getting. “We’ve got quite a few stops left to go.” He paused, giving Barry a once-over that felt like some sort of assessment. “Unless you’re not comfortable.”

Oh. Barry’s face was definitely on fire now (again, with the fire metaphors and puns?).

Somehow he hadn’t counted on Rory being considerate. Not that he thought Rory would - no, nothing like _that_. Especially on a public bus.

Still, a part of him warmed at the glint of uncertainty through the cracks of Mick Rory’s expression.

“I…” He glanced at the seat beside Rory, at the man who clearly was avoiding eye contact with his headphones shoved deep in his ears. “Well, there _are_ no more seats left.”

Rory’s mouth curled at the corners and that heat swept through his gut. “Got a point there. You got a name?”

Barry stared at him for a moment, a laugh itching at the back of his throat because he couldn’t be _serious_. Did he really -

He…oh. He didn’t know.

(He swore he heard a mini Cisco groaning in the back of his mind.)

“My name, ah, My name’s Barry,” he said, forcing a smile through the new internal crisis building because _only him, why did this only happen to him_? “Uh, you?”

“Mick.” That hand was definitely inching toward his jeans now. “Though, gotta say, didn’t expect to find _your_ leather-clad ass someplace like this. Run out of juice there?”

Barry opened his mouth, attempting to formulate words, but all that came out was a strangled noise close to _huh?_ Rory - _Mick,_ and boy, that was a weird name to think of when it came to a criminal he’d gotten arrested at least once - laughed, low and quiet, and Barry hated the way his toes curled at the sound.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

He was never taking the bus again.


	34. Killerwave, "I'll Keep You Warm"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "killerwaaaaaaaaaaaave + “I’ll keep you warm.” ~ happy writing! :) writer's block is the worst"
> 
> Mentions of stitches and injuries.

“You need to get back in bed.”

Mick grunted and Caitlin forced herself to blink, her eyelids sticking for a brief second. She was tempted to groan; sitting in a chair for most of the night, not to mention accidentally falling asleep there for a hot second, wasn’t the most comfortable position.

Mick had offered her the bed, but she was sure he was being cheeky. Well, maybe only a little cheeky, since he seemed disgruntled at having to spend the night at S.T.A.R. Labs.

(The opposite could be said for Lisa, who had teased and practically hung off of Cisco earlier that afternoon despite the new cut she’d needed stitches for on her left shoulder. Caitlin wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d actually decided to spend the night in the end, given the sheepish looks Cisco kept sending Caitlin.

Thankfully, Leonard hadn’t quite liked that idea and it took Barry to calm them both down before they wound up gilding or icing each other to the spot.)

She couldn’t say it wasn’t…weird. Working with the Rogues, that is. It’d begun thanks to some unruly metas terrorizing them both, and somehow they’d wound up allied? She still wasn’t sure how happening upon the Snarts in the Cortex drinking coffee had become normal for her these days.

“Need to piss.”

Ah. Right.

Back to reality.

“I can help you to the bathroom,” Caitlin said, grimacing as she got to her feet. At least she’d taken off her shoes earlier - the cold floor felt good, soothing against her toes. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“Not far.” Mick didn’t shrug her off, but the look he sent her when she tried to grab his shoulder. She took the hint and stepped back, allowing him to stand. With the bullet removed from his leg, he looked steady.

Ish.

Mick swayed for a moment, feeling out his balance before he nodded. “Be right back.”

“Are you sure - ”

“Don’t worry about me, doc,” Mick said. His mouth twitched, as if he found her concern funny. Caitlin just held her hands up defensively and watched him pass, unable to stop herself from following the criminal with her gaze on the way out.

Caitlin had long learned not to bother with the Rogues. Sometimes they were worse than Barry when he put his mind to it, bull-headed and sickly sweet as they stared her down.

(Well…that was mostly Lisa. Try as she might, she really couldn’t get on with that woman.)

She tried to busy herself in the room, adjusting the mussed sheets from the makeshift bed that Mick had tossed halfway over the side ( _someone_ was a pillow hogger, she noted, taking in the nearly flattened pillow spun on its side where he’d been lying), taking notes on his improving condition. Knowing Leonard, he’d want a report in the morning about how Mick was doing, even if Mick cursed him out afterward.

She bit back a laugh at the memory - as frightening as it had initially been to hurry into the Cortex and find Cisco staring nervously at the two Rogues spewing profanity at each other (fondly?), it’d been somehow hilarious, seeing their faces screwed up and Mick fuming in the corner.

A shiver wracked her spine and Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself, pausing in her notes. She’d forgotten to bring a jacket, but with winter fast approaching, it had gotten chillier inside the Labs and Iris had complained alongside Caitlin multiple times about the unusually cold hallways.

Part of her suspected it was Leonard messing with the temperature. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all, and he had a conniption every time it rose above sixty-five.

“Cold?”

Caitlin jumped, just suppressing a swear on the tip of her tongue as she whipped around. Mick looked a little amused as she pressed a hand over her chest to calm her rapid-fire heartbeat. “What? Oh, ah, I’m fine. Didn’t hear you come back.”

“Didn’t take long.” Caitlin barely had time for her nose to start wrinkling when Mick stepped into her space, inches away as he tentatively rested his palms on her arms. All the hair stood upright on her body, and she wasn’t sure it was solely from the chill. She sucked in a breath as he rubbed them, glancing at her face with an impassive expression.

This… 

She didn’t know what to make of this.

“Said you were cold,” Mick muttered.

“Oh. I’m - I mean - ”

“I’ll keep you warm.” The words came out more as a question than a statement, but Caitlin swallowed hard as he tugged her closer to get a better, almost softer grip. 

Funny, she hadn’t expected to associate Mick Rory’s hands with any action that could be classified as _soft_.

She hadn’t even - well, no. She’d be lying if she said she’d _never_ thought of Mick Rory’s hands at all.

“This better?” Mick asked, his voice somehow loud in the empty room. His eyes remained on her face, as if he thought he could read her reaction better at this proximity.

Caitlin forced herself to swallow again, a shaky laugh escaping her. “Um… I mean, it’s a little warmer. Are you not - You’re not cold?”

Mick laughed and the air didn’t feel quite so frigid. She could smell faint smoke on his clothes, though she wondered if that was a usual scent, since he hadn’t been associated with arson cases in quite some time.

None that she knew of, of course.

“Nah. Snart always does this.” Ah, so she’d been right. “I think he’s trying to rile up Red and his girlfriend.”

That…did seem likely. Leonard had acted odd around Iris and Barry since they’d officially allied with Team Flash, his smirks stiffer than usual. She hadn’t brought it up to either of them, but she could see the hawk-like skepticism Cisco gave the three and knew she probably wasn’t alone with her suspicions.

“He wants us all to freeze in the process?”

Mick shrugged. Their shoulders bumped and her heart fluttered before she could think better of entertaining…whatever was going on with her. “He’s a dumbass. Not good at…feelings.”

“Well, that confirms that, I guess.”

Another laugh. “Told ya he was obvious.”

“I guess flirting is more of Lisa’s strong suit?”

Mick paused, his head tilting as he looked her over. It was strange to think that this was the same man who’d once kidnapped her, that he could look so relaxed and amiable. 

“Guess so.” She couldn’t pin down his tone, but it almost sounded like he was disappointed.

Caitlin glanced at her watch and frowned. “It’s getting late. I should… I mean, I should get home. Unless you need help with…anything else?”

Mick stepped away and a twinge of something unidentifiable crept into her gut. The chill returned. “Not now. You should get rest. Don’t want you falling asleep on me.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied, a smile ghosting her lips despite herself. “You, on the other hand, need to be careful so you don’t pull your stitches, mister.”

“Ain’t my first time being patched up,” Mick reminded her, but he moved toward the bed, flopping onto the mattress. His leg’s stitches didn’t look the angry red they had earlier, but he did grimace at the movement. “Go on. See ya tomorrow.”

“It’s technically tomorrow,” Caitlin said, spying both hands on her watch pointed at the twelve, but she packed up her bag, already shivering again without Mick’s hands as makeshift heating pads against her skin.

That was…a strange thought.

It was late. She wasn’t thinking straight.

Still, even as she left, she spared the criminal a quiet farewell, and didn’t bother hiding her smile as she walked out of the Cortex, his low chuckle echoing in her mind.


	35. Flashvibe, "It's Late. Shouldn't You Be Asleep?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: ":) flashvibe + “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”"
> 
> Mentions of nightmares.

Cisco was having a very nice dream involving a real life Candyland, sweets galore, sitting on a King Kong-sized lollipop and laughing as his feet stuck to the sticky surface, when a stifled noise caught his attention and next thing he knew, he was jerked awake, halfway upright in the mess of blankets.

“You okay?” He turned and Barry’s uncertain expression came into view, his bare chest covered in goosebumps from the room’s chill.

“Wha - Yeah.” Cisco rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Yeah, I’m fine. S’all good.” Barry nodded and it took a moment, but Cisco spotted the red-rimmed eyes as his own adjusted to the darkness of the room. His chest clenched and he shifted further upright. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Could say the same for you.” Now that he was more awake, he could definitely hear the rasp in Barry’s voice, see the way he ducked his head when Cisco tried to lean closer. “You looked pretty spooked.”

“I’m fine,” he dismissed. “What about you, though? What’s up?”

Barry shook his head and Cisco reached out. His hand barely brushed Barry’s shoulder before his boyfriend winced, and Cisco resisted the impulse to recoil and apologize. He gently turned Barry toward him, shuffling closer across the mattress.

There was a definite wince once more when Cisco tried to meet his gaze. Cisco attempted a smile, though he guessed it didn’t come off quite as teasing as he hoped. “Hey.” Barry made a noise, one of his hands coming up to rub his face, and Cisco lowered his voice. “Babe, you okay?”

It took a moment or two, but Cisco didn’t speak, patiently fixated on his boyfriend’s half-hidden face. Barry muttered something under his breath and sighed, the sound shaky and wavering in the dark.

“You’re going to think I sound stupid.”

Cisco couldn’t help but snort. “Really? You run faster than the speed of sound every day and I can literally teleport if I put my mind to the task. We see crazy shit every day.”

“It’s not - ” Barry sighed and now he glanced up. Cisco’s heart ached at how utterly lost and drawn his face was. “I just… I had a bad dream. That’s all.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Barry hesitated and shook his head again. Cisco took a chance and risked an opportunity to move his hands from Barry’s shoulder to cup his face. He rubbed his thumbs over the skin of Barry’s cheeks, feeling definite tear stains under the pads of his fingers. Relief trickled in when Barry gave in and slumped forward, pressing his forehead against Cisco’s, and Cisco pointedly ignored the hitch in breath.

“Okay. We don’t have to say anything, it’s okay. Do you… Do you want to lay back down? Do you need anything?”

“Lying…” Barry cleared his throat, and Cisco felt Barry’s hands shake where they were pressed against his lap. “Lying down. That’d be fine.”

“Okay.”

Another quiet noise left Barry as Cisco leaned back, allowing Barry to fall with him as they laid back on the pillows. Cisco removed one hand to adjust the sheets - it was getting rather cold out, he should’ve upped the thermostat before they went to bed - before wrapping his arms around Barry’s shoulders. His boyfriend burrowed his face in Cisco’s chest and arms encircled his waist, giving a grateful, unspoken squeeze before he slumped against Cisco.

It wasn’t the first time they’d been privy to nightmares - for either of them, that is. Back when they’d gotten together, Cisco’d been plagued with nightmares from Dante, Thawne, meta attacks gone wrong. Barry bore his own demons, most of which Cisco was well aware of, but he was less likely to share with the class.

Cisco wasn’t hurt by it. Not really. It’d taken a couple months before he’d been able to open up about the fading nightmares of his brother, and Barry’s quiet presence had been a huge comfort, more than he could put into words.

He wished Barry felt more comfortable talking, though. Maybe he’d never been used to sharing, not when other concerns and terrors had been dismissed so young.

That thought made his heart ache a second time, fiercer with a blazing streak that encouraged Cisco to hold Barry tighter. His boyfriend mumbled something he chose to take as gratitude, but as the minutes wore by, and Barry grew more relaxed, he had a feeling the imagined gratitude wasn’t quite so _imagined_.


	36. Barry and Nora, "I Won't Let Anyone Hurt You, You're Safe With Me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "“I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” maybe? Barry saying it to someone"
> 
> Went with something for S5 actually, since I’ve been CRAVING to write Nora West-Allen. So have a short little prompt for little Nora and Barry.

Iris had long since gone to sleep when he heard the whimper, barely audible as he emerged from the bathroom, bleary-eyed and bone-tired. He frowned and it was only the oncoming yawn that suppressed his sigh.

Well. The least he could do was let her sleep a little longer.

Barry shuffled into the nursery and headed for the crib. Nora, not yet two months old, was a noisy girl; Barry would’ve been truly shocked if she stopped crying.

She also seemed to have a full diaper, squirming in Barry’s arms when he picked her up, her wailing ceasing in volume for a mere moment before she tried to cling to his shirt with her little hands. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he changed it quick as a flash, relieving her of the smelly diaper.

It was strange, seeing her so small and fragile, wrinkly face and pudgy cheeks staring up at him. Comparing it to the vibrant smile and giggle of the grown woman who’d visited them years back, all nervous energy mixed with longing whenever she caught his gaze, balls of yellow and purple lightning crackling off her skin as she ran, Barry had a hard time picturing them as the same person.

Not when baby her was wailing like she was at death’s door, at least.

Thankfully, Nora’s sniffles began to die off as she recognized the pressure in her diaper was gone, her tearful face tilting up to meet his with something he swore was a confused _Hey, where’d it go?_ Barry chuckled and held her closer to his chest, supporting her head as it threatened to loll with how she was shifting around.

“You just can’t keep out of trouble, can you?” he teased. “Kid or adult.”

Nora made soft noise and he laughed again, keeping his voice low so as not to wake his wife. Iris had been obstinate about dealing with Nora lately, not wanting Barry to take care of her all on his own, and while he understood the sentiment and her determination, he could see those dark bags under her eyes, how exhausted she’d been coming home from work.

He hoped she wasn’t trying to prove anything.

His chest squeezed like a vice as he recalled the future newspaper. The date that was only a year or so away.

The flicker of terror in Iris’s eyes as she brushed it off with a _So what?_

Nora’s distraught expression, her fiddling as she whispered _You never come back._

Barry’s hold on his baby daughter tightened and Nora squealed, her tears forgotten. He kissed her forehead and swallowed back a lump in his throat.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he promised, “you’re safe with me. I’m not going anywhere.”

As if she understood, Nora latched onto one of his fingers with both tiny hands, gazing up at him with doe-like eyes. She tested her grip and laughed when his smile grew, strained and sad as it felt.

He intended to keep that promise. Even if he had to fight tooth and nail to keep his family together.


	37. Coldwestallen, "I Wasn't Lying When I Said That I Loved You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Angst/fluff prompts: 40, coldwestallen", 40 being "I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you".

The door opened moments before he finished unlocking it (at least his lockpicks were still on hand after all these trips through time and space) and Len didn’t quite expect to be facing down an angry Iris West wielding…

“Is that a spatula?” he asked, cocking his head from where he was still crouched on the hallway floor before the door. Or, where the door had once been shut.

Iris blinked once, then twice as she looked between the black spatula in hand and his face, as if she were unable to process the situation. She couldn’t have been awake for very long if the state of her messy curls, half-pulled into a braid and framing her tired eyes, was anything to go by. Flour stained her yellow blouse, which hung artfully off her shoulders, momentarily distracting his own gaze.

“Someone’s getting a big breakfast, I assume.” Len stood, his bones protesting. He wasn’t  _ old _ , but years of thieving and running from the cops and other time-assorted villains hadn’t done him any good. “Pancakes?”

“I -  _ what _ ?” Iris lowered her spatula and threw the door open wider. If she expected that would help her see Len better, he didn’t know how to break the truth to her. She looked exhausted and on-edge, though, so he held off on speaking up. He didn’t doubt Iris would be able to stab him with the spatula if the need arose.

“Iris?” Barry’s voice made the two of them tense. Though, for two very different reasons, Len conceded ruefully. “Someone at the door?”

“Uh,” Iris glanced back at Barry, who he could hear approaching fast. “Yeah, babe. It’s… Well...” She sighed and stepped to the side, gesturing with her spatula for Len to enter.

Not quite the entrance he’d been anticipating. Then again, he hadn’t anticipated anyone being up this early. Who made pancakes at seven thirty?

He strode past Iris and the scent of pancakes - probably blueberry, if the plastic container he could see on their counter was what he thought it was - hit him head-on. He’d never been in the loft before, not since before the Oculus, that is, and a quick spin on his heels let him take in the apartment with ease. Very cozy, he had to admit.

“Who is - ” A sharp intake of breath to his right caused Len to turn and he somehow wasn’t prepared for the sight of Barry Allen in a floral apron hanging by the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes wide as he stared at Len.

“Guess that answers the pancake question,” Len murmured.

Iris shut the door but didn’t move toward Barry, still eyeing Len like he were an apparition ready to vanish if she glanced away for a moment. “You’re not Leo, are you?”

If Mick hadn’t filled him in, albeit briefly and without much elaboration before Sara took over later, on the basics of what had happened over the past years he’d been “dead”, he imagined he would’ve been very confused. “Afraid not, Iris.”

She snorted and shook her head. Barry, who hadn’t budged yet, frozen in place, cast her a strange look. “Explains why you tried to break in, I guess.”

Len smirked. “Guilty as charged.”

“You haven’t changed a bit.” He didn’t know what to make of her soft tone.

“Well, things tend to stay...for lack of a better word,  _ timeless _ when you’re stuck in an endless void.”

Barry made a noise he couldn’t interpret, stepping forward hesitantly. “You’re not from the past?”

“Definitely not.” He spread his arms. “Think I would’ve recognized my - ”

A pair of lips cut him off, and Len tensed, his hands dropping to his sides, his heart skidding to a halt in his chest. Gentle fingers, a stark contrast to the almost bruising kiss, held his face for only a moment more before Barry shot back - several feet, actually, which would’ve been amusing had he not been so dumb-founded.

Or had Barry not kissed him  _ in front of his wife _ .

“Um.” Barry seemed at a loss for words, a damp sheen visible even at this distance in his eyes. He gripped the hair on the back of his head and laughed nervously. “I - sorry. I just - ”

Memories of Siberia rose unbidden, of Barry’s strange behavior, the fond yet melancholy looks he sent Len when he thought the thief wasn’t paying attention. Of the uncertain, fluttering hands over his shoulders when Barry paid him goodbye, the quiet words he hadn’t thought were  _ real _ .

After all his time spent in a timeless prison, Len’d written off the events as a sort of dream. A fantasy of sorts.

But wasn’t it just his luck that Barry’d remember now of all times too, when he had someone who loved him and a place of his own?

“I’m almost tempted to congratulate you.” Barry looked more anxious at the sound of his wife’s voice, but Len couldn’t help but stare at Iris, her amused expression hiding no animosity. “Seriously. I didn’t forget about that incident around Christmas.”

“Iris - ”

“Barr,” he shut his mouth when she gave him a smile, looking as bewildered as Len felt, “I’m not an idiot. Anyone within a thousand miles could  _ smell _ all that tension.”

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you,” Barry said, swallowing hard.

Iris laughed. “I know. I also know  _ you _ and I think you’re forgetting that I was  _ there _ when you brought him back.”

“You’re acting awfully calm,” Len said, not bothering to hide his trepidation as she turned to him.

“Well, I also know you.” Len schooled his face into indifference, but he suspected she saw through the cracks given her growing smile. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned since this whole mess started with metahumans and time travel, it’s that you just have to go with the flow.”

He didn’t know what to do with that response. Barry didn’t seem to either, poised to run despite how utterly still he stood, and Len swore he saw his hands  _ vibrating _ . Perhaps from nerves?

Iris walked past them both without missing a beat, waving toward the kitchen. “Those pancakes aren’t going to cook themselves. We made more than enough for three.”

Barry made a sound, somewhere near hopeful and uncertain, and neither of them spoke for a moment as he faced Len. A sense of deja vu struck him, not unlike the memory of Siberia and reassurances and running from giant sharks, of all things.

Maybe Iris had a point. He’d long since stopped questioning the crazy shit that plagued his life ever since the Particle Accelerator exploded, since the Flash had burst into his life and thrown him headfirst - literally - into a new world of danger.

“Are you staying?” Barry’s voice was low, his eyes scanning Len’s face as if he could find the answer written in bold print across his forehead.

_ Take care _ , the speedster had whispered not long ago, looking so disappointed before he’d run off, though Len hadn’t understood why at the time.

“Well,” Len drawled, chancing another look around the loft as Barry fidgeted, “I imagine if I left your wife would chase me down and spear me with that spatula. Not that I could blame her.”

Barry choked out a laugh, and something about the tension in the air lifted. Or maybe it was his imagination. “Yeah, I can see that. Though, we should go make sure she doesn’t burn those pancakes.”

“Not a good cook?”

“ _ No _ . I love her - ” Barry paused, his expression softening as he watched Len and his gut twisted. “I love her but she’s one of the worst cooks I’ve met. Gets too distracted.”

“Unfortunate,” Len said, though the word came out quieter than he intended.

Barry smiled, the same blinding, dimpled smile he remembered, and headed for the kitchen after Iris. Len didn’t have the heart to bolt, his veins thrumming in the same way a heist once got him buzzing. After all, he’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

Maybe Iris did know him better than she claimed.


	38. Westhawne, "You Ought To Be Asleep"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "‘you ought to be asleep.’ + Westhawne handsome please? :3"
> 
> Mentions of pregnancy and giving birth if that squicks anyone.

“Hey.” Iris whipped around and immediately winced as her body protested. Nope. Too fast, too fast. At least she didn’t smack her hip into the kitchen counter this time.

Eddie, the jerk, just snorted and gave her an apologetic smile when she glared at him. She decided to forgive him - just a little - when he wrapped his arms around her, high above her stomach just in case. She still wasn’t used to the pain in her belly.

“I was going to ask where you were, but I think that answers it.”

“How sweet,” she tried to joke, though it came out more like a grimace.

“I thought so too.”

Iris rolled her eyes but her mouth twitched as he placed a peck on the corner of her mouth. “I got thirsty. Needed a glass of water.”

Eddie made a quiet noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, but she could feel him smiling against her cheek. “You could’ve woken me.”

“I’m not sick,” she reminded him. “Giving birth doesn’t mean I can’t get my own damn water.”

“Hey, I never said that.”

As if on cue, there was a faint cry down the hall, a muffled wail that gave her a migraine already just thinking about heading there. She tried not to sigh as she made to wriggle out of her husband’s grip, but Eddie didn’t let her squirm away. He gently turned her around so they were facing one another, his smile softening in the face of her frown (“you pout just as much as Barry does,” he’d told her once, and she could _feel_ the amusement radiating off of him even now).

“Let me go see him.” Iris’s eyes narrowed but he held up a hand. “I know, I know you can do it too, but you’ve done it the last four days and you’re exhausted, babe. You ought to be asleep.”

“ _You_ ought to be asleep,” Iris grumbled back. Still, she allowed Eddie to kiss her once more, and despite the haze of sleep tugging at her she leaned into the chaste press with a quiet sigh.

“Take the water to bed,” Eddie murmured against her mouth. The way his eyes traced her face, as if he were unable to believe he was holding her here, getting to rub his thumbs over the sliver of skin peeking out from under her tank top near her hip, made her heart swell. “I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

She sighed. “Barry taught you that puppy dog eyes stare, didn’t he?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Her tone came out much fonder than she intended, but it was worth it to see him smile wider.

“Says the sleepy mom.”

“Says the sleepy dad.”

It still felt weird saying that out loud, realizing that _she was a mother, they had a child_. Eddie seemed to feel the same thrill that she did, his cheeks beginning to flush even as he pulled away.

“Well, the sleepy dad wants the mom to go to bed. And he’ll be right back in a few minutes with cuddles.”

“He better be,” Iris teased, pressing one more kiss to his lips before she watched him walk away. She couldn’t quite stifle the budding grin on her face when she heard him cooing and soothing their baby - _their baby boy_ \- through the bedroom wall, and if she had tears in her eyes when he came back… Well, she’d blame it on the lack of sleep.


	39. Constangreen, "Your Tie Is Crooked"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: " (if I may request another, if not, don't feel bad about deleting) this is perfect for constangreen: ‘your tie is crooked.’"

“Having a little trouble there, eh, squire?” John called. Gary could practically _hear_ the smirk in his voice, the little coy lilt he always used when he thought he was being funny.

Gary, to his credit, managed to keep himself from startling at the unexpected voice - had he really finished getting ready so quickly? He breathed out through his nose and dropped his hands away from the blue tie around his neck. Which looked more like a tangled rope than anything else, to be honest. How he’d tied three knots everywhere but by his actual neck was beyond him. “You’d think this would be easier with a mirror,” he muttered.

John stepped away from the doorway and he watched through the mirror as he circled Gary.

It really wasn’t fair. He had no right to look that good in his crisp suit, wrinkled red tie and usual trenchcoat gone for the evening. Not that his everyday wear was shabby! 

(Now wasn’t the time to remember embarrassing admissions of _You look good in anything_ after… um, _meetings_ in the Time Bureau, but Gary’s brain had other plans apparently. A _lot_ of plans.)

He allowed his eyes to stray when John turned his back, hands twitching at his sides no matter how hard he tried to keep them still. He must’ve made a quiet noise because John looked over right as he admired the fit cut of those slacks.

Gary did _not_ blush when John gave him a knowing smirk, thank you very much.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes,” Gary said, and he took pride in how little his voice wavered. “I just - well, I’m having some problems.”

John looked down at the mangled blue tie and somehow the smirk grew. “Your tie is crooked, mate.”

His shoulders slumped. “Yes, I know.”

“Don’t you have to tie it for work every day?”

“I try to use clip-ons,” Gary admitted sheepishly. Either that or Ava wound up pulling him aside to help him fix it (which he’d long since learned to stop questioning, especially when she was in a good mood after Captain Lance came to visit).

John chuckled and Gary’s (nonexistent!) blush turned a darker pink before he could duck his head. Not that it would’ve mattered - in the next moment, John was reaching out, tugging him forward with a surprisingly light hold on his arms. Gary swallowed as John’s fingers brushed his skin as he slipped the poor tie off his neck and set to work untying the knots.

“Sorry.” The warlock’s hands stilled for a second, brows furrowing as he glanced at Gary.

“What the bloody hell for?”

“Making us late. I know how much you wanted to see Zed and - ”

“Look at me.” Gary hesitated but when John stood his ground, he forced himself to meet the other man’s gaze. Times like this were ones he treasured, when they were alone and just talking quietly, when John’s features softened and he looked years younger, all his stress and heartache gone.

He untied the last knot and looped the tie around Gary’s neck, making sure to maintain eye contact with Gary the whole time. “No one’s late. A little behind schedule, but nothing new. ‘Sides, if Zed wasn’t used to me taking my time by now, this’d be a very different story.”

Gary nearly crossed his eyes staring down his nose at the deft work John was making of tying the tie, and forced himself to look up instead. Though John didn’t make it much easier to focus on him when he was using that unbearably kind smile he _knew_ made Gary want to kiss him.

“You’re usually late to these sorts of things?”

John snorted. “It’s a bit of a gift.”

“I can tell.” The response made the corners of John’s mouth quirk up further and Gary leaned his head back a little so John could get a better view of the knot he was tying. “How’d you even learn how to…you know? Tie one of these things? I mean, I know you wear them all the time - or your red one, at least, which I really hope you put in the wash if you’re not wearing it tonight - ”

“Taught myself how,” John said, thankfully cutting off Gary’s rambling. “My old man wasn’t the best teacher, so I did it myself. Wasn’t too hard once I got the hang of it.” He stepped in closer to finish the knot and held Gary’s gaze for a long moment. His stomach curled, warmth spreading through him even as John looked away to admire his handiwork. “Would ya look at that. Right as rain.”

Gary glanced down at the smoothed-out tie, tucked neatly around his shirt collar. “Yeah, I guess so. Uh, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” John winked at him, but it held less of his usual cockiness, that small smile still gracing his lips. “We’d best get going. Zed’s not a patient woman.”

Gary made a mental note to kiss his boyfriend senseless, or as senseless as one _could_ kiss John Constantine, while he followed him out the door. 

He wound up feeling the gentle graze of those fingertips across his neck all through dinner, and when they excused themselves early after Zed had to leave - “you’re not the only busy one around here,” she chided John as he tried to pry - Gary didn’t waste a second after the apartment door shut before he was pressing John into the door, the both of them laughing through the kiss.


	40. Coldflash, "I'm Not Going To Hurt You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "‘i’m not going to hurt you.’ aka Len is somehow afraid of Barry Pretty please? xo"
> 
> Implications of abuse and murder, as well as panic attacks.

He really should’ve known better. Should’ve learned his lesson after the first run-in with Bivolo because _really_ , this guy didn’t know when to quit, Rogue or not.

Barry needed to have that chat with Len again about their _extracurricular activities_ , because this was getting out of hand. You’d think someone as smart as Len would be able to keep Bivolo in line.

Though, it might’ve had to do with Mardon as of late, who Len had hinted at being a loose cannon in that “I’m not helping you because I like you but because he’s a pain in both of our asses” sort of manner.

Which was utter bullshit and they both knew it, but hey. Barry was fine playing along if it soothed Len’s ego - and certainly nonexistent heroic streak.

Anyway.

He really should’ve guessed that Mardon and Bivolo were up to something when Cisco rang him about the alert while he was out having coffee with Joe. He’d even assured Joe he had things under control - Cisco, Iris, and Caitlin were already at the ready, they’d been working up a new pair of goggles to combat Bivolo’s powers and it wasn’t as if they hadn’t dealt with the rogue Rogues’ (and wasn’t that a mouthful) shenanigans before.

Barry hadn’t counted on his maybe-not-quite-boyfriend showing up with his sister in tow after Barry’s ass got lit up like a Christmas tree (thank goodness for superspeed healing but _fuck_ , that was going to hurt for a while).

He also didn’t count on Len getting whammied by a flicker of baby blue amidst the streams of cold and taunts thrown on both sides, nor was he prepared for the harsh gasp torn from Len like a punch to the gut as he collapsed and curled in on himself.

Lisa caught the motion at the same moment Barry sped over, something awful churning in his chest that he didn’t want to name, and thankfully didn’t object, gilding Bivolo’s legs to the ground without a backward glance. He made a mental note to give her Cisco’s number later as thanks.

Iris informed him said engineer was on his way, maybe with some frosty back-up to handle Mardon’s not-so-fun flight abilities, and Barry must’ve replied with something because the next thing he knew his comms were off and he was being shoved away by a downright _terrified_ Captain Cold, eyes wider than he’d ever seen them.

It was such an uncharacteristically off expression that the realization hit Barry like a freight train, a comparison he was far too familiar with at this point.

Fuck. They hadn’t even _thought_ about Bivolo being able to manipulate anything aside from anger. Sure, it’d been years so he’d obviously have time for practice but anger was easier to use, so of course he would resort to making people fight each other first.

But anger wouldn’t work when Len was already pissed with Bivolo and Mardon, not when his version of rage was cold, for lack of a better term, and less impulsive than someone like Barry.

Blue, wasn’t it? So, that had to be -

There was that uncomfortable twist in his chest again, more angry than scared this time.

Yeah, he was going to have to give Lisa a hearty thanks later for gilding Bivolo to the road, where he was still shouting at Mardon for a helping hand, or Barry might’ve done worse to the meta himself.

If they weren’t sitting in the middle of the road in front of a gas station - and he could see some civilians pulling out their phones already, which really wasn’t going to help in the end-run - Barry would’ve been tempted to throw back his cowl and try and ease Len with a familiar face. Though, that might not have helped either, given how skittish the man looked, ready to bolt at the first twitch from Barry, good or bad.

Fear. 

Captain Cold, who always had a plan, always kept his composure even when things didn’t go his way, even when the Flash and his crew surprised him… Cold was _scared_.

Len was _scared of him_.

Barry swallowed hard, held eye contact with the trembling - _Len never trembled, it was all so_ wrong- man on his ass before him, cold gun at Barry’s feet forgotten by both parties. Len had even lost his usual goggles, probably the only reason he was affected at all, maybe had decided they weren’t worth the trouble for a fight with his own Rogues.

He saw Cisco say something to Lisa out of the corner of his eye, the latter of whom was standing ramrod straight and hadn’t looked away from her brother since he’d been whammied. Mardon was now shouting, the suspicious sound of ice colliding with a few lightposts ringing out over the street.

There were too many people around for this. Len wouldn’t want to be this out in the open, on display with utter terror dancing in his eyes as he shrank back, breathing going shallow.

He caught Lisa’s eye, the unusual uncertainty blazing back at him, and Barry nodded toward Len in askance.

There must’ve been something desperate in his expression, enough for Lisa’s concern to soften ever-so-slightly and nod back, masking her feelings with that sly smirk as she pulled Cisco away to slap some goggles over Bivolo’s eyes.

Barry hated the way Len tensed in his grasp, no matter how gently he grabbed Len’s shoulders and tried to murmur assurances of “Just need to get out of here, it’ll be okay, trust me” under his breath. He could feel the fear radiating off of Len as he ran from the scene, headed straight for the Labs with electricity surging around them.

Iris was used to the mild breeze kicked up by Barry’s heels at this point - had to be, even with the plethora of paperweights Joe and Cecile had gotten them as a joke - and wasted no more than a moment once she spotted Len in Barry’s arms, hurrying for their emergency supplies. One good thing about having to deal with certain Rogues meant having back-ups on hand to reverse or counteract their powers.

Len, however, didn’t appreciate this much and Barry didn’t fight too hard as he pushed out of Barry’s grasp, stumbling against the wall when Barry unthinkingly moved to calm him. There were definitely tears in Len’s eyes now and the very sight made Barry sick.

“Is the flashlight in the infirmary?” Iris called, already halfway there.

“Should be.” Len flinched at the noise and Barry took a deep breath, lowering his hands so he didn’t scare Len further.

He did yank back his cowl now, meeting Len head-on, and he couldn’t help but think this was a sick perversion of their first face-to-face meeting in the woods years prior.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Barry whispered, his chest aching. “Iris is going to get that flashlight and take away the fear, okay? Everything is going to be okay.”

Len shook his head, still shaking. “N - No,” his voice came out like a half-sob, “can’t… Need to get away. Not safe.”

“Len, I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you, not like this,” Barry promised. Still, it hurt knowing the fear was real, felt real to Len, and he’d never once contemplated the idea of _Captain Cold_ being this terrified of him. Bivolo’s power only amplified emotions and…gosh, if this was what Len felt every time they were together… “Iris will be back in a minute and everything will - ”

“No!” Len wedged himself against the wall further though Barry hadn’t budged an inch, his eyes growing wider, an impossible blue that seemed to glow alongside Bivolo’s influence. “No, y - you have to stay away.” He looked like he was ready to start rocking himself, hands clawing at his own parka to find something, anything to hold onto. “I can’t - I can’t… Barry, I can’t - ”

“Hey,” Barry tried to raise his hand, a lump caught in his throat around the apology he wanted to give, but Len just gave him this stare of such _horror_ that he let it fall. “I’m not - whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s - ”

“I can’t hurt you, I _can’t_.”

Barry froze before he realized what he’d done, heard Iris’s rummaging through drawers halt.

Len sobbed, ragged and so unlike the cool mask he used around the world that it gave Barry whiplash. He pressed one of his knuckles against his mouth, as if trying to muffle his cries.

“One day I’ll - I’ll just…” Len gave a quiet whine and shook his head. “There’s too many chances, I’m not… I’m like _him_ , I’ll fuck it up. If I h - hurt you…”

God, he hadn’t even thought - how could Len think - ?

Even after the whole debacle with Lewis, even after the brief stint in time with the Legends before he’d settled back in Central City, wrecking havoc but _controlled_ havoc, like a child toying with its favorite playthings for a short while…

After those first nights Barry spent checking in on Len after Mick stayed with the Legends, the teasing banter and late nights and accidental flirting - though how accidental could it be with _Captain_ _Cold_ \- that led to falling into bed and…

Well, Barry had hoped something more. Not that they’d discussed it or implied anything as such.

But Len’s sobbed declaration, the sincerity and bluntness of his words as if he _knew_ better and maybe wanted -

Oh.

The ache in his chest dislodged itself, loosened only a little, and Barry stepped forward hesitantly. When Len didn’t react, he used the opportunity to edge closer until he was inches away from Len, within reaching distance, though he kept his hands to himself. No matter how badly he wanted to wipe away those tears, pull Len close like he’d never been able to.

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Len made to protest and Barry shook his head, moving his head down so he could catch Len’s face even as he attempted to hide in the fur of his hood. “I mean it. You won’t do that. I know you, _you_ know yourself well enough to know it’s true. Len, you’re better than that.”

“I’m _not_ \- ”

Iris’s footsteps slowed behind them and Barry gave a silent thank you for her patience and caution. “You are. You always have been. Isn’t that why you agreed to the deal? Because it’s your city? Because you’re the best at what you do?”

Len’s breathing started to even out, but Bivolo’s influence was no easy thing to shake - Barry knew that all too well - and the man still looked petrified. Barry inched his hand forward, pushing the hood back from Len’s face and felt a rush of relief when Len didn’t recoil.

“If you wanted to hurt me - if you were _going_ to hurt me,” Barry corrected himself when Len winced, “you would have done it long before now. And I think we trust each other enough to know that won’t happen.”

The soft buzz of the shoddy last-minute Anti-Raider flashlight - “The name’s a work in progress,” Cisco had snapped - cut through the air and Len tensed, eyes flitting between Iris and Barry. The vulnerableness of the motion somehow set Barry’s nerves at ease.

Not the situation itself, nor seeing the other so shaken by everything and anyone around him, no. No one should have to experience what Len was in tenfold right now.

It was just them. He just had to keep Len calm.

“Len.” The man glanced at him again, fright still evident in his expression. Barry’s hands brushed the back of Len’s and he hoped the contact was more soothing than terrifying. Given that Len didn’t bolt, it must’ve been the latter.

Though, in retrospect, it _did_ seem like he was caging Len in. 

“We’re going to make the fear go away, alright? We won’t do anything you don’t want.”

It took a long moment, silent and taut with how clear the conflict was tearing Len apart, but neither Iris nor Barry moved, or dared speak. The shake of Len’s hand against his own was far from comforting.

Still, Barry nearly breathed a sigh of relief when Len nodded, a jerky movement that held none of his usual fluidity.

He stepped to the side as Iris let the counter-light flash rapidly, disorienting Len as he leaned back into the wall, but part of him was grateful for the hand still clutching his like a lifeline and couldn’t help but _hope_.


	41. Lena and Kara, "You've Thought About This, Haven't You?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Lena and Kara, 38", 38 being “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”
> 
> Wasn’t sure if you wanted the ship or just them talking so…have an ambiguous snippet.

It was the silence that got to Kara. Not the staring, not the crinkled furrow in Lena’s brow, so familiar after years of her own staring, of tracing the sharp jawline that now tightened with every passing second.

No, it was the awful, damning silence that stung and wormed its way under Kara’s skin like a parasite gnawing at her insides.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” The words, almost inaudible after several minutes, startled Kara, her eyes darting to meet Lena’s. Something dark and unreadable swirled in her gaze and Kara’s gut began to churn just watching it.

“I…what?”

A bitter scoff left Lena and she looked away. Her dark hair fell like a veil over half her face, shielding it from Kara’s view. “I can see it in your face. You’re so tense you’d probably explode if you weren’t…” Lena swallowed hard. “Well, nearly invincible, I suppose.”

Kara couldn’t help but glance down at her open flannel, the emblem in red and blue glaring back at her with a heavy weight. 

Her fingers itched to do up the buttons, pretend nothing had happened, nothing had changed. Hadn’t she evaded suspicions before? This should’ve been nothing new.

Yet the truth hung like thick molasses between them, unspeakable despite the proof. They couldn’t even look at each other for more than a moment.

Kara ran a hand through her curls and found her hand was shaking a little. “I don’t know.” She took short-lived pride in how steady her voice was by comparison. “Maybe. It’s - I’ve imagined it occasionally. Haven’t had to for others.”

Lena’s spine straightened but she didn’t turn. “I don’t suppose you do this often.”

“Not really.” Kara wanted to step forward, a crazy urge to reassure Lena, hug her maybe, rising within her. She stayed put. “Only for my friends.”

Lena’s hair whipped around as her head did and Kara barely had a moment to react before Lena was in front of her, a mere five inches away, her expression akin to stone. She registered a fingernail pressing into her chest right above the crest of the House of El, unrelenting as Lena always had been.

“Is this what you call ‘friendship’? Lies and dancing around the subject for _years_? Pretending the elephant in the room doesn’t exist? Relationships have to have _trust_ , Kara.” Her harsh laugh made Kara want to wince. “I may not have many friends, but I understand _that_ concept.”

“I - Lena, I wanted - ” She quickly switched gears when Lena looked unimpressed and let her hand drop to her side. “We are friends. I’ve never lied about that.”

“Am I supposed to believe that when you couldn’t bother to trust me with _this_?” Lena pressed harder against the suit, as if she could tear a hole right through it and all the tension in the room. “I’m not stupid, Kara. You may not be a great liar, but I at least thought you’d know when to quit while you were ahead.”

Kara opened her mouth to protest but the nagging in her gut caused her to pause and reevaluate -

“Wait. You…”

Lena’s eyes narrowed further. “You really didn’t know.” She almost sounded disbelieving, if not disappointed.

Kara reeled back and thankfully the other didn’t follow, allowing her a moment to breathe. She felt like she was going to be sick.

How had she thought this was going to be easy?

It’d been _years_ , and _Lena had_ -

“How long?” It came out more like a whisper than she intended.

“A couple of months. Maybe after that party, the little twin act you had going. It wasn’t hard to figure out something was up - and your excuses really weren’t that clever. ‘Getting coffee with Kara Danvers while you called’? Really?”

She had to laugh. Maybe it was a bit hysterical. Maybe relieved, who knew?

She couldn’t tell the difference right now.

“Alex always said I was a crap liar. Though, I dunno if I’m worse than Winn, I…” She shut her eyes. “I’m not great under pressure, clearly.”

“Except when it involves taking down crooks and aliens alike, it seems.”

Did Lena have to sound so formal, like this was a business meeting? Even when they’d first met, with Clark all but interrogating her, she’d never sounded so…

So cold.

Kara opened her eyes and forced herself to look at Lena. Really look at her like she’d always done, even when she knew she shouldn’t stare.

No. Cold wasn’t the right word, no.

It was the lack of a sheen behind her dark eyes, the purse of those lips, the thrumming tension in her bones as if she were seconds from fight or flight - though knowing Lena, it’d likely be the former. She never did back down from a fight.

 _Detached_ , hissed a voice in the back of Kara’s head. _Distant_.

Like she had to be, in order to win.

Kara let her shoulders slump as she reached out, hesitant and still close to panicking. She watched Lena’s posture stiffen - but not recoiling, merely defending herself preemptively. When her hand grazed Lena’s arm she wanted to sigh in relief.

“I know this will mean nothing, but I’m sorry.” Kara bit her lip. “At first it was a matter of not knowing each other well enough, but then we became friends and… I trust you more than anyone, not including Alex, of course. It’s not a matter of trust for me, this - _Supergirl,_ ” and there was the darkening of her gaze, the flinch she’d been anticipating, but Kara pressed on, “isn’t someone I share out of trust. And sharing her with you… I was scared. I was so scared, Lena, that the moment you knew you’d hate me.”

Maybe it was her imagination but Lena’s tight expression seemed to soften. Just a little. “I wasn’t going to hate you because you’re an alien and a hero.”

“But you’d hate me for lying.” Her voice was small enough for Lena’s protests to die on her tongue, and Kara’s chest _squeezed_ like a vice around her heart. “For not telling you, for going behind your back and not trusting you when you’re someone I’d happily give my life for any day. I should’ve given you the courtesy of knowing from the moment we became friends.”

Lena didn’t speak for several moments. Kara turned away and did up her shirt finally, trying to ignore the way her fingers slipped on the buttons.

It wouldn’t matter if Lena wanted space. If she wanted time. It was what she deserved, after all, for being lied to for years.

Even when she’d known all along and gone along with Kara’s pathetic stories and excuses.

Rao, they’d been friends for so long Kara had forgotten what it would be like to have Lena as an enemy. Or had they ever been enemies? Even with Lillian Luthor attempting to tug on Lena’s heartstrings, she’d never given in, never turned away fully from Kara or Supergirl whenever she pleaded.

The idea that, with enough pleading, she could persuade Lena to good was a tempting one to test. And a little selfish, now that she dared consider it.

“I’d never hate you.” Kara’s heart fluttered - _again, selfish_ \- but she didn’t turn, didn’t want to hope despite the undeniable fondness she swore she heard in Lena’s tone. “Disappointed in you? Yes, as much as I hate to sound like a disapproving mother.” Kara couldn’t help but snort and Lena made a noise behind her too, as if she were holding one in herself. “Angry? Yes. But hateful? Loathing? Never.”

“I really should’ve told you.”

Lena didn’t deny her quiet words, but she felt gentle fingers on her shoulders after a beat. An unspoken forgiveness she probably didn’t deserve so soon.

“I only wanted you to tell me yourself sooner,” the CEO whispered. “Cornering you, drawing it out of you… I didn’t want that. I just wanted you to tell me.”

Kara turned her head and her breath hitched at the familiar warmth returning to Lena’s eyes, signs of the ice thawing beneath her surface.

“That’s all I wanted too.”


	42. Goldenvibe, "Sometimes Being A Complete Nerd Comes In Handy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "“Sometimes, being a complete nerd comes in handy.” + goldvibe please <3"

Lisa had to stifle a laugh as Cisco tore open the packaging with childlike vigor - he’d blush if she ever compared him to a little boy on Christmas, but _honestly_ , the look on his face was both adorable and priceless. They’d have to clean the paper off the carpet later but she held off on bemoaning the task. That would be saved for after Cisco’s birthday.

And after convincing (“coming into the Labs and threatening my friends to give me the day off is not _convincing_ , babe”) his little speedy team to leave them be for twenty-four hours, Cisco could leave as much paper and plastic packaging around the apartment as he wanted. He deserved it after the sleepless week he’d been having.

She really was going to have a chat with that Flash about overworking her boyfriend, even if she had to gild his bright red boots to the floor so he’d listen for once in his life.

“I. Cannot. Believe. You.” Lisa raised an eyebrow as Cisco stared at the colorful plastic in his hands, eyes wide.

“What was that, honey?”

“You…” Cisco looked up and shook his head. She couldn’t help but take pride in the fact that his mouth was still agape. “I - How did you even get this? I told you I was looking into these figures _ages_ ago.”

Lisa waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. I have my ways.”

Cisco’s brow furrowed. “You stole it.”

“I never said that.” When he still looked disbelieving, Lisa sighed. “I called Lenny. My brother’s been collecting _Star Wars_ memorabilia and merchandise since the films came out. He knows a few guys.”

“Your _brother_?” 

“Well, sometimes being a complete nerd comes in handy,” Lisa teased. Lenny would likely glare at her if he knew she was telling Cisco where his birthday present had come from - and honestly, Lenny had been saying himself that he needed to clean out some of his collection, so he had no right to complain - but the gleam in Cisco’s eyes hadn’t faded, still bright with delight.

He glanced back down at the figures, lifting the yellow-haired Luke out of the remnants of the paper with deft fingers. It made her smile to see the way he held the Jedi, an act that came surprisingly easy after years of forcing simpers and smirks for cons.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this,” Cisco said slowly, and _there_ \- that there was the blush she’d been looking for, “but tell him I said thanks.”

Her brother was definitely going to fume about this. “Will do, don’t you worry.”

Cisco leaned over and her smile grew before she could think twice about it as he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. She could feel his own grin widening against her skin.

“Thank you,” he murmured, only moving back an inch or so despite the red staining his cheeks.

Lisa tugged him in for a longer kiss and laughed at the slightly dazed grin left behind when she pulled back. “Anything for the birthday boy.”


	43. Constangreen, "I Can't Keep Kissing Strangers And Pretending That They're You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” + hmm... constangreen?"
> 
> Mentions of homophobia and injuries.

The door flew open before Gary could grab the handle and he nearly got smacked in the head had he not jumped back in time (he’d deny any squeak that left him later on, no matter how hard he was teased about it). Gary frowned and looked up to snap at the trespasser, because _really_ , he was just about to open that and yes, it was pouring but they couldn’t have _waited_ -

Then he realized who he was glaring at and his stomach dropped.

John - _Constantine_ , it was easier to think of him by his surname, to forget every memory that ached because of it - had the decency to grimace and look sheepish at the very least. He also bore a black eye, though, so maybe he was wincing from the pain. “Sorry to drop in you, mate.”

“Did you really walk all the way here in the rain?”

Constantine glanced down at his soaked clothes, most of which Gary had to look away from because of…well, how see-through they’d become. “Not too far from the ol’ Bureau. Raining cats and dogs out there, though, I’ll admit.”

Right. He’d hoped the Legends would be too busy to do any check-ins, as selfish as it sounded.

Or maybe they’d been back for a bit and Ava just hadn’t bothered to tell him.

(Or she’d hoped John - Constantine wouldn’t bother visiting Gary. Ava was surprisingly sympathetic about his moping. Though, now that he thought about it, that might’ve had to do with her ever-persisting distaste for the warlock.)

“Did Director Sharpe punch you or…?”

Constantine laughed, grin a little strained, and Gary’s heart ached at the familiarity of the sound. “No, though I’m sure she’d love to. Went out drinking a bit ago.”

“What does that have to - Wait. You’re drunk?”

“Relax, squire,” Gary swallowed hard and he was pretty sure Constantine watched the movement. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. _Dammit, Gary._ “Only had two. I know my limit. Now, I hate to darken your doorstep but…” Constantine nodded behind Gary, a curious tilt to his head.

This…was a bad idea.

A very bad idea.

He could practically hear Ava’s disapproval resonating within his mind, her sigh echoing the longer he hesitated.

Gary moved to the side so Constantine could pass and resisted a sigh of his own. “I’ve got clothes in the closet if you need to change. I don’t know how you’re not shivering right now.”

“Thick skin,” Constantine teased, but he wasted no time in shucking off his shirt - to which Gary again averted his gaze because he was _weak_ , okay? - and moving to Gary’s bedroom. The fact that he still knew where it was made Gary…

To be honest, he didn’t know how he felt about that.

(That wasn’t true. He knew exactly how he felt.)

Gary shut the door and his eyes, burying his face in his hands despite how his glasses dug into the sides of his palms. He should’ve pretended he wasn’t home, or maybe accepted Nate’s tentative invitation to dinner with his family tonight. Anything would be better than having to care for his ex.

Or whatever they were. After all, it wasn’t like they’d had a label. Gary wasn’t silly enough to kid himself into believing they were anything special.

Not now, anyway.

Constantine returned five minutes later with his soaked clothes in his arms, running a hand through his hair. Yet another bullet to the chest: did Constantine even realize he was wearing Gary’s favorite sweatshirt?

(Yes, Ava would definitely be sighing right now if she could hear his thoughts.)

“Thanks, squire.” Constantine flashed him a grin, though it was still tight and more tentative this time. Part of Gary, the pettier part, felt a bit vindicated and hissed _Good_.

At least he wasn’t the only one suffering here. Even if it was a different kind of suffering, perhaps.

Gary cleared his throat and folded his arms over his chest so Constantine couldn’t see his twitching fingers. “Uh, no problem. Really, it’s no problem. I can get something for your eye - ”

“There’s no need for that.”

Gary scoffed before he could stop himself. “Your eye is turning purple. You have to let me put ice on it or let me use the courier to take you back to the Waverider so Gideon can treat it.”

“I’ve had worse blows, mate, don’t worry about it.”

“In this weather, you’re not going anywhere,” Gary pointed out. “Just let me get some ice and I’ll - I’ll be out of your hair.”

Constantine’s brow began to furrow, though Gary couldn’t read the look on his face. Unsurprising, given how much of a closed book he was to the world.

Even while they’d been…whatever they’d been doing. Or were. Gary had been sure that Jo - Constantine would eventually open up; there’d been signs and he’d been so _hopeful_ -

He shoved those thoughts into a safe in the back of his mind and locked the safe before he could dwell on them further. Constantine was still watching him with that weird look.

“I’ll go get the ice,” Gary muttered and he darted off before the warlock could object again.

Thankfully, the first aid kit was still under the sink where he’d left it and the pack was still in the freezer. He was in no mood to go hunting around the apartment. 

The perks of having a dangerous, life-threatening, time-traveling job, he supposed. You knew exactly where the medical supplies were.

Constantine was unusually quiet when Gary came back and handed him the pack. He didn’t even protest when Gary insisted on looking over the eye just in case, though he did assure him that he wasn’t hurt elsewhere.

“Did you get into a bar fight?” _Again_ , Gary couldn’t help but add internally.

“Nah. I was, ah,” Constantine didn’t meet his gaze and Gary’s insides churned before the words even left his lips, “the bloke I came onto wasn’t very appreciative of my efforts.”

He knew he didn’t school his expression in time when Constantine glanced back, but Gary tried regardless to appear indifferent. “Ah.”

“Hence my quick retreat.”

“Yeah, that…that makes sense.”

Gary stepped back and reached for the first aid kit, maybe because he needed something else to look at, maybe because he hated the way everything just _hurt_ , but a hand landed on his and he couldn’t stop himself from freezing.

“You alright there, Gary?”

The sound of his name, so soft and uncertain and unlike John - _Constantine, dammit_ \- caused something to spark and Gary met his eyes with a clenched jaw from the effort it took not to snap. Constantine seemed to see the intent still and his mouth twisted.

“Right.” The man nodded to himself. “Tad insensitive on my part.”

“You think?” The words were out before he thought twice and he could _feel_ his face warm.

Constantine snorted and for some reason, the sound attempted to ease his heartache. “Didn’t have to guess. Was written all over your face the moment you saw me.”

Of course. Gary jerked his hand away - why, oh why had he let himself linger? He told himself the flicker in Constantine’s eyes wasn’t disappointment or…

Whatever. It was whatever, right?

“I can go if I’m intruding.” The warlock’s voice brought him back to reality and Gary huffed.

“You’re hurt, you can’t go out there in the pouring rain. Besides, if you came here, you probably came from the bar down the street. Right?” Constantine remained silent, which he took as confirmation. “Whoever you pissed off could be leaving soon or be waiting or… I don’t know.”

“Probably won’t be. Looked more interested in the lady serving him.”

“Oh.” He felt the odd urge to blush. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. None of this is.”

He hated how contrite Constantine sounded. Gary forced himself to meet the other’s gaze and his heart leapt at how far forward Constantine was leaning, the intense scrutiny in his eyes.

“Right. Because it’s yours for being ‘yourself’, as you put it when you - ?” Gary swallowed as Constantine frowned, looking more than a little taken aback. Somehow it gave him the courage to continue, cruel as it felt. “Like you said when you said we couldn’t see each other? Or is it because you’re ‘a damn cannon waiting to go off’ and you’re trying to prove it tonight?”

“That’s not - ”

“Then why are you here? Why out for a drink here when you could go to London or France or - or anywhere else that’s not _here_? I’m sure Captain Lance would’ve gladly given you some from that stash I know she has that she made me promise not to tell Director Sharpe about. Why did you need to come here when you could’ve just - ”

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

Gary…

Gary couldn’t have heard that right.

The longer he stared at Constantine’s face, the more he felt ill. No, sleep-deprived, that had to be it. He was overworked, overtired, maybe he’d fallen asleep on his desk and -

Constantine shut his eyes and an uncharacteristic melancholy painted his features in broad brush strokes, like the tragic subject of a Van Gogh painting. He lowered the ice pack from his eye and winced. “I thought it’d make things easier to pretend. Cuz yeah, I’m a damn fool. Even Sara’s been a nag about it.”

“Pretend…” Gary searched Constantine’s face for any sign of a prank, some kind of ruse or indication he was dreaming, but there was none. “What do you mean? You told me…”

“I got - I got scared, love.” The endearment did _not_ make his heart skip a beat, no matter what any romcoms he’d watched may have suggested on the matter. “It’s complicated. Demons and hell and…well, all the things you never signed up for. It’s hard to explain in one night, but I lost someone. Someone I thought I could get over _this_ with.” Constantine - _John_ , who was he kidding - waggled a finger between their chests. “And I didn’t want the same to happen to you and… I ran. Like I always do.”

“You…” He stepped forward as John ducked his head, face screwed up into a wretched expression. Was it wrong to hope? “ _You_ got scared.”

“Happens to the best of us. Or worst of us, depending on how you look at it.”

Gary laughed. He didn’t stifle the sound, didn’t bother pretending he coughed, he just laughed, a short burst that made John’s eyes snap up in confusion. The sight made him laugh again and he had to hold up a hand so John didn’t question his sanity. “No, it’s fine, I just - I just… Really? You, the greatest warlock I’ve ever met, despite all your moaning and griping and - _really?_ You got scared of _me_? That’s - literally no one has ever been terrified of me before.”

John’s lips quirked up. “Well, congratulations.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel happy or relieved or angry right now,” Gary admitted, bringing his hands to the back of his neck so they had something to hold. “Mostly the last two - well, more relieved, I think - ”

“Hang on,” John said, holding up his hand. “I meant what I said. I’m still - ”

“A cannon about to go off? A mistake?”

John winced. “Yeah. That. Not to mention the whole ‘soul going to hell’ ordeal and demons and the lot.”

Gary couldn’t find it in him to care. He lowered his hands and shook his head. “I’ve known who you were since we met. I think we’re past that.”

“I’ve done some terrible things, love.”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

John’s face darkened. “Terrible as in _hellish_. And they’re coming back to haunt me.”

“We already dealt with demons before,” Gary reminded him. “And dragons and fairies and other magical creatures we now have to take care of or banish at the Time Bureau. This won’t be any different.”

John still didn’t look pleased. Gary sucked in a deep breath and extended his hand to the man’s free one, wiggling his fingers when John hesitated.

“Can’t we at least try?” Gary asked.

And maybe it was the optimist in him, or the part just _waiting_ to get crushed under heartbreak once more, but he had a good feeling when John gave in with a small smirk and intertwined their fingers together.


	44. Parkwest, "You Could Have Died"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Parkwest + “You could have died.”"
> 
> Mentions of some mild NSFW (mostly making out and biting).

The moment the door slammed shut, Iris had her pinned against the white wood, swallowing Linda’s startled yelp with her lips as she crushed them against hers, lipstick smearing in mere moments. Linda tried not to laugh at Iris’s eagerness, though she had a suspicion this wasn’t meant to be funny - and well, she couldn’t complain about the kissing, honestly - but her mouth kept curling at the corners as she braced her hands on Iris’s wrists, which kept knocking against Linda’s jaw as she cradled Linda’s face in her hands.

Iris wedged a knee between Linda’s legs and - _oh_ , shit, that felt good. She made another quiet noise against Iris’s mouth and yanked her closer by the wrists before she could think twice.

Her girlfriend, however, had different plans and moved her mouth to Linda’s neck and right ear. The nip of teeth against sensitive skin, tugging and playing with it to her heart’s content was rather distracting even as Linda tried to meet her mouth once more.

“If this is how you handle second dates,” Linda managed to tease, her voice threatening to cut off in a whine when Iris _bit_ into her neck and _shit_ , that shouldn’t have been so hot, “I may have to prepare next time. Give a gal a warning, huh?”

Iris paused for a beat before her mouth grazed the lobe of her ear, warm breath tickling her skin as Iris’s hands shifted so one cupped her hipbone on that sliver of skin between her jeans and blouse. Linda tried to turn again but Iris moved too close to her ear for their lips to connect, and Linda realized the grip on her hip was less rough now. It was more soothing than intimate.

Not that she was complaining. But she’d been kind of into the make-out session, ya know?

Then she realized Iris’s breath was stuttering against her ear and her amusement turned into a frown as she stilled with Iris’s wandering thumb on her hipbone.

“You could have died.” Iris’s voice was soft, but so close to her ear made it easy to hear the cracks in her armor she didn’t want to face Linda for. “I know Barry and Cisco had it handled, but when those metas attacked during dinner, I… You could’ve _died._ ”

Linda placed her hand over the woman’s and Iris buried her nose in Linda’s short hair. Disappointment, not with Iris but with herself, swirled and festered like a storm in her chest. She should’ve known something was up when Iris was too calm after Barry had shown up, rescued her from that truck that nearly pinned her down, from Weather Wizard’s oncoming lightning strike. 

Linda had been terrified, sure, but she’d assumed Iris would be fine. Well, not _fine_ , but fine as one could be after living with The Flash and other assorted metahumans. She was always so calm and collected in the face of danger, a gun in hand ready to fight for her friends and family, glaring down the enemy even without powers.

She’d forgotten even Iris West got scared.

It took a few moments, but she waited until Iris’s breathing evened out before pecking her on the cheek, pressing her forehead against the spot she’d kissed as her girlfriend sighed. The hand on her hip tightened, though not painfully so.

“Hey.” Iris made a noise, acknowledging her nudge to the side. “I’m alright. Not a scratch on me. I promise.”

“I just… When I saw the lightning, I thought - ”

“I know,” Linda said, and she gentled her tone when the tension started to show in her shoulders, rigid and ready to bolt. “I know, babe. But you’ve got some awesome friends and they saved the day. You were right out there with them too, getting people to safety. I saw you help that older couple across the street when the debris started falling. A real hero.”

Iris snorted. “Oh, god.” She almost sounded like amused. “Not even Barry’s done that. Though he did mention a cat in a tree once.”

“Doing more than the fastest man alive, look at you.”

“Am not.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Linda laughed, and it drew a small smile out of Iris as Linda leaned back to watch it grow. “We work together, I see you do it every day. You’re a natural hero, babe.”

“Says the woman who had to pretend to have superpowers to fool Zoom himself,” Iris shot back.

“That was supervillainy, though. Besides, you saw how bad I was. I nearly killed Barry for real like, three times!”

“Four,” Iris admitted and _there_ was the genuine smile, the one that lit up the room every time she walked in. “But I believe it was Cisco the last time.”

“See? You’re way better at Hero 101 than me, and you don’t need the powers to prove it.” Linda took both of Iris’s hands in hers, even though the close quarters meant the angle was a bit awkward. She tilted her head so Iris had to meet her gaze. “And I’m sorry I scared you. I can’t say it won’t happen again because… Well, this city’s crazy. Can’t say I won’t freak out if you get hurt either. But hey, it’ll be okay.”

Iris’s expression softened. “I know. I’m sorry for - ” She gestured toward Linda’s neck, though her smile was beginning to look smug. “You know.”

“Right. You look real sorry.”

“I suppose I’ll have to make that up to you, then.”

Linda tugged Iris forward by their joined hands and kissed her, no more than a second’s press, and she bit her lip as she pulled away. Seeing Iris’s eyes darken was more of a thrill than nailing the scoop for an article (pun not intended, she realized belatedly).

“Hmm. I suppose you will.”


	45. Coldflash, "Love Is Overrated"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldflash + “Love is overrated.”"
> 
> Not gonna tag, but also some brief mentions of GoldenNews here if that's your cup of tea.

Barry groaned as the curtains were thrown open, sunlight streaming onto his face even as he squinted. He grabbed the nearest pillow and shoved it over his face with a whine. “Go away.”

His mean, utterly inconsiderate boyfriend chuckled. Footsteps neared the bed and Barry buckled down on his grip on the pillow on instinct. 

“Come on.” Leonard sounded far too awake for a man who had to have woken less than half an hour ago at most. Why he woke up every day at the same time when he had a leisurely schedule - such was the clearly overbearing life of a criminal - was beyond Barry. “You have work in twenty minutes. _Someone_ was too lazy to get up at his alarm.”

“Love is overrated,” Barry complained as his pillow was torn away from his hands. Leonard smirked down at him with his prize and Barry would’ve stuck out his tongue had he not been wincing at the sunlight in his eyes still. “Any boyfriend who loved me wouldn’t put me through this torture.”

“Tell that to Captain Singh. I’m sure he’d love to hear how much you love your job.”

“You suck.”

“Your affection astounds me.”

Barry shut his eyes and rubbed the heels of his palms over them. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed up so late last night, but Cisco had needed him on patrol and one thing led to another and -

Well. That was the life of a superhero for you. One good deed after another until you wiped out in bed.

Sometimes literally. He and Len didn’t speak about the time Barry had been thrown through the back wall of their apartment and destroyed their bedroom thanks to the gorilla invasion.

Again.

“Barry.” Damn it all, Len _knew_ what that low, slow drawl did to him. He groaned and lifted his hands to glare at his boyfriend, who only looked more entertained. “If you don’t get up, I’m calling Lisa and Iris.”

 _That_ woke him up like a bucket of ice. He laughed nervously as Len turned and left the room, sitting up in bed.

“Yeah, right, you wouldn’t - ” Barry reconsidered his words and winced. No, Len _was_ petty enough to incur both his sister and her girlfriend’s wrath over a simple alarm and laziness. “Alright, fine! You win! Don’t call them.”

“Too late.”

Barry bolted out of bed, lightning trailing off of him before he realized what he was doing and where he was.

“ _Leonard Snart_ , don’t you dare!”


	46. Coldwestallen, "Not That I Would Ever Do Anything Like That"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Coldwestallen, “Not that I would EVER do anything like that.”"
> 
> Slight sexual undertone. Oops?

“Uh huh.” Iris folded her arms across her chest and Barry thought it was entirely unfair how smug Leonard looked by her side, barely managing to tamp down on his smirk. “So you definitely didn’t eat the rest of my favorite cereal without asking, then.”

“…Definitely not.”

Iris sighed, but her own mouth was twitching at the corners. “Good. Because if you did, I’d have to punish you.”

Barry’s mouth went dry. “Oh?”

Iris snorted and tugged Leonard toward the kitchen, grinning shamelessly at Barry. “But for now, you’re going to sit at the table and wait like a good boy until we finish eating our breakfast since _someone_ ate ours.”


	47. Zamaya, "I Don't Work Here, Ma'am"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Zamaya + "...I don't work here, ma'am.""

The woman frowned. “You’re wearing the same colors as everyone working.”

Amaya glanced around her and noted that, well, she wasn’t wrong. “Yes… But that’s really a coincidence. I’m here with my girlfriend.”

Before she could open her mouth - hopefully not to be ruder than she’d already been - Zari slunk up next to Amaya and pressed a kiss to her cheek, a dangerous glint in her eyes. Amaya didn’t miss the way she snuck a box of cupcakes into their grocery cart.

“There a problem here, _babe_?”

“None at all,” Amaya promised, nodding toward the next aisle and ignoring the discomfited shift in the stranger’s stance. “Shall we?”


	48. Coldflash, "That's Cold, But I'm Colder!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "I hope I’m not late, but Barry and Leonard + “That’s cold, but I’m colder!”"

Barry came to a stop in the middle of the street to give his boyfriend a dirty look. “Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What do you mean ‘the best I could come up with’? I’m _Cold_ , it works.”

Barry dodged a car the meta of the week threw his direction, but not before rolling his eyes. “Pissing her off and calling her cold doesn’t help.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” Len pointed out. He had to roll behind a dumpster when said meta yelled and sent another wave of sonic vibrations toward them, barely avoiding getting hit in time. Barry didn’t sound quite so lucky if his cry was any indication, and it made Len’s gut clench.

“Ladies, you’re both _cold_ ,” Lisa snapped over the comms, and Len caught a glimpse of a stream of gold gilding the meta’s feet to the ground when he rose from his crouch, “but we can argue about whose puns are better later when we’re not about to _die_ , got it?”


	49. Coldwestallen, "So When Are We Going to Address the Speedster in the Room?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "ColdWestallen + “So when are we going to address the speedster in the room?”"
> 
> Mentions of pregnancy, if that squicks you.

Barry frowned. “What do you mean?”

Iris pursed her lips and tried not to smile at Len’s phrasing, but she didn’t quite succeed; seeing his little smirk at her efforts was a reward in itself regardless. “I think he means the baby bump that wasn’t here three months ago when he left, babe.”

“Oh.” Barry relaxed, shoulders slumping as he kept eating the pasta in front of him. “I thought you meant the twins.”

Len froze and Iris bowed her head and sighed when she heard Barry stop too, realizing his slip-up.

“The _what_ now?”

Barry looked to her for help but Iris was already shaking her head and heading for the dishes. “Nope. You’re explaining that one.”

“Wha - It’s not my fault - _Iris_!”

“ _Twins_?” Len repeated like a broken record, eyes still wide as he glanced between them. Iris’s heart swelled at the budding affection behind the blue of his eyes, and she couldn’t help but giggle to herself, patting her bump as she grabbed the sponge.


	50. Snowlily, "You're Burning Up"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Can I be greedy and ask for Snowlily + “You’re burning up.” (I have parks and rec on the brain)"

Caitlin groaned and squirmed away from the offending hand on her forehead, choosing to ignore the snort from her girlfriend. “’m fine. I’ll be good in…a minute.”

“You have a fever,” Lily chided. “And I bet Frost would agree with me on that.”

 _She has a point_.

“Traitor.” Whether she meant Lily or Frost - or both - was beyond her.

Lily pulled out the thermometer and waggled it in front of Caitlin’s face. “Don’t make me get one of the speedsters in here to hold you down. Cisco’s been off getting medicine for the past hour, since your meta-healing hasn’t kicked in. Whatever that one meta did to you last night hasn’t worn off yet, I guess.” She frowned. “Your whole body might have shut down if you didn’t get to the Labs when you did.”

Caitlin huffed but she eyed the thermometer with less trepidation, Frost murmuring what sounded like half-assed encouragements in the back of her mind. “Fine. But only if I get to sleep in my own bed, not on this cot.”

“Deal,” Lily said with a smile.


	51. Scholsen, "Welcome Home"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Scholsen + “Welcome home.”

James smiled at the sleepy, glazed look in Winn’s eyes, the slight slur to his words as he rubbed at his face. There was a suspicious red mark taking up half of his face and judging by the fact that it didn’t look like he’d moved from the kitchen table for at least an hour, James guessed that he must’ve fallen asleep waiting up for him.

“You didn’t have to wait.”

Winn shook his head and started to push himself to his feet. “Nah. Wasn’t tired.”

“Sure.” James caught Winn’s arm as he stumbled and he bit back a laugh at the slow surprise dawning on his face when Winn realized he had nearly slipped onto his ass. “And I’m Superman.”

“Pssh. You’re better-looking than Superman, James.”

“Good to know,” he teased, but Winn was already tugging him toward the bedroom and James let himself be pulled, dropping his bag by the table. Work could wait. That was a tomorrow problem.


	52. Coldray, "Come Cuddle"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Leo Snart and Ray Terrill + “Come cuddle”"

Leo chuckled. “Long day?”

Ray leaned his head back on the armrest of the couch, a frown pulling its way onto his face. It really looked more like a pout, but Leo didn’t dare tell him that. “The longest.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one solution, isn’t there?” His smile grew as Ray moved over to make room for him, and he tucked his arms around his husband, pressing a kiss to his exposed collarbone. The answering hum of contentment warmed his heart in ways he couldn’t possibly describe with words; how he got this lucky, he would never know.


	53. Coldray, "Babe... We're Gonna Get Caught...!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Another Coldray please? “Babe.. we’re gonna get caught..!”"

“That’s not what you said the last time,” Leo teased.

Ray rolled his eyes and held out a hand to keep Leo from running into him, checking around the corner for any passersby. “Running off to a different Earth for our honeymoon and _not_ checking before realizing our doppelgängers are both supervillains isn’t the same thing.”

“I apologized for that!”

“When you said ‘another Earth’ I thought you meant Earth-1,” Ray admitted. “Not Earth-9 with its little overpopulation problem involving dangerous metahumans.”

“It has lovely sunsets?”

Ray shook his head but he couldn’t help but smile fondly. “Sometimes you’re too thoughtful for your own good.”


	54. Coldflash, "Just... Hold Me... Please..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Leonard Snart and Barry Allen “Just.. hold me.. please..”"
> 
> Mentions of canonical character death and grief.

There was a long moment of silence before Len obeyed, resting his chin in the crook of Barry’s neck as he listened to the other exhale shakily. The day of his mother’s murder was always a difficult time, usually filled with quiet assurances and staying in, but neither had anticipated the anniversary of Barry’s _father’s_ death to hit so hard this year.

“I just…” Barry shut his eyes and the urge to kiss his lashes, kiss away the grief crossing his face little by little. “I wish he could be here. For the wedding.”

Len gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I know, Scarlet. I know.”


	55. Coldflash, "You Just Had To, Didn't You?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "coldflash + "you just had to, didn't you.""

Barry winced and gave Len a sheepish smile. “In my defense, I didn’t know your sister was going to…blow up.”

“What part about ‘don’t tell her about the meta’ didn’t you understand?” Len’s tone was even, the epitome of calm and collected, but the dangerous glint in his eyes still made Barry want to slink away. “I wanted to keep her out of this mess.”

“How was I supposed to know the meta was her ex?!”

“She mentioned Lisa _twice_ when we were fighting her.”

“I just thought maybe you knew each other…?”

Len pinched the skin between his brows and sighed. “Barry.”

“I’m sorry! I mean, she’s not going to go after Lisa, is she?”

Len didn’t say anything, lips pursing. Barry’s gut clenched and the ball of guilt in his chest began to tighten. Shit. He hadn’t meant to -

“Should be fine.” A flicker of amusement passed over Len’s face. “I’m more concerned about _Lisa_ going after the meta.”

…Oh. _Shit_.


	56. Coldflash, "...Was That A Proposal?!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: " coldflash + "...was that a proposal?!""

“No.” Len turned away but Barry used his speed to zip in front of the other, mouth agape no matter how hard he tried to close it. Len wouldn’t look at him even when he grabbed him - albeit lightly, seeing how tense Len was growing - by the shoulders.

“You… Wait, at dinner earlier… Oh, my god, you’re _trying to propose_ \- ”

“ _Barry_.”

“No, no, this is great!” Len looked up at _that_ , something uncertain in his eyes, and Barry moved his hands to cup his cheeks. Shock gave way to excitement, the thrumming enthusiasm behind the _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_ running at the speed of light through his brain. “I thought you just wanted to get away for a date. You know, away from the craziness of the city. Is that why you’ve been so nervous?”

Len scowled. “I’m not _nervous_.”

Barry raised an eyebrow. “Right. So, you fiddling at dinner - wait, the ring in your _jacket, oh_ \- wasn’t because you were nervous. At all.”

“…No.”

“Or when you got annoyed when we had to stop and fight off that meta halfway through dessert when they tried to trash the restaurant.”

“It was a good soufflé,” Len tried, but even he seemed weary of his own protests.

“What about when I’m saying yes right now?”

Len opened his mouth - and quickly shut it. If Barry hadn’t been watching for it, or known Len as well as he did, he likely would’ve missed the hitch in his breath, almost imperceptible.

“You… What?”

Barry smiled and ducked his head, but he didn’t dare lower his hands, stroking the other’s cheeks, paths he knew better than his own. “I’m _saying_ that if you want to go get that ring and try again… I’m not gonna say no.”

Admittedly, Len’s silence made him just as nervous; the wide-eyed flick of his gaze down Barry’s face, searching desperately for signs of foul play, was somehow a comfort, but he’d never seen Len quite so hesitant before to say something. 

Maybe he’d rendered _Captain Cold_ speechless. Huh.

“Give me,” Len licked his lips and Barry’s eyes followed the movement before he could think twice, “give me a minute to get it. We’re doing this _right_.”

Barry just smiled wider and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling it curl under his own before he pulled away.

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me (or prompt me) at my DCTV Tumblr @areyouscarletcold. Comments are always appreciated, and have a great day!


End file.
